Thought You Should Know
by Emmie G
Summary: Spike writes a letter to Buffy before the final battle in Not Fade Away. Spuffy. Spoilers for AtS Season 5, After the Fall and Buffy Season 8.
1. Chapter 1

_Los Angeles_

_A few hours before the final battle_

Spike stood in the shade of the alley staring at the mailbox glinting in the late afternoon sun. It was only five feet away but it felt like he was attempting to traverse an ocean. And he was in a way. Letter was meant to go to Europe. To Rome. To Buffy.

To a Buffy who'd moved on to a new wanker. Spike scowled when he thought about her with the Immortal. The woman had the worst taste in men. First Angel, then Riley and now the bleeding Immortal. He paused to think about how he was included in that list of men then mentally shrugged. He figured the way he had to fight tooth and nail for the barest smidgen of attention from her, he was the exception to the 'Buffy dates idiots' rule.

He looked down at the unsealed envelope and pulled the letter out to read one last time. He suddenly wished he'd brought a pen and a sheet of paper with him, certain there were a few last minute editions he'd need to tweak. Damn. He scowled and read on.

_Buffy,_

__

I've tried so many times to think of the perfect words to say to you. To let you know I was back from the great beyond. To tell you how I felt. I can't find them. I've racked my brain till I was ready to strangle something but they're never right. There are no words to fully explain what you mean to me. Every word isn't enough. Not strong enough or powerful enough or beautiful enough. It's a new torture all its own, to be filled to the brim with so much feeling and unable to express it. So I found myself swallowing these inadequate noises. They were unworthy of you. You deserve better. Always have.

__

So why am I bothering you now? Way I figure it, this might be my last chance. I know you've moved on. I suppose Andrew told you about my visit to Rome. Pathetic, right? I only caught a glimpse of you, a shimmer of gold, but I could tell you were happy. Finally happy. You looked free the way you were dancing. I've always loved to watch you dance. You were never more alive than when you were dancing. I never felt more alive than when we were dancing together. Beauty in motion.

_She walks in beauty, like the night_

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes

__

Byron truly was a poncey bastard, but he had a way with words. Better poet than I could ever hope to be. That's how I see you. A creature of darkness born of fire and sunlight. Dangerous and powerful. Yet the darkness never consumes you. You rule the night. Your inner light banishes the shadows. You conquer and enslave. Makes you warm inside to be near it. And beneath that strength lies your heart. I've spent so much time trying to find myself there. Within the warmth of your heart. I think I always knew that's where I'd find home again.

__

Love, don't mind me. I told you once it didn't matter how I felt, that I didn't want anything from you. That's not exactly true. Hell, it's complete bollocks. I want. I want so many things from you. But I know I'll never get them. And you shouldn't give them to me. But I'd be a fool not to see you for what you are and be staggered by your light. The Slayer. Buffy. All that's best of dark and bright.

__

I wanted you to know how I felt. How I feel. It's a part of me, the best part. Sometimes I think it's the only good inside me – the part capable of loving you. It means I'm more than a monster. That maybe someday I'll finally be...

__

Bad things are coming, love. And I find myself taking a side I never thought I'd choose. But he who shall not be named needs my help. It's the right thing to do. And I think you'd be proud. So I'm going to save the world one last time.  


_  
Just thought you should know._

__

- Spike

Not bad. Damn, he wished he had a pen. Sighing, he refolded the letter and pushed it into the envelope, raising it to his lips and hesitating for a moment before licking it closed. He walked to the edge of the alleyway and judged the distance between the relative shade he stood in and the mailbox. He glanced down at the edge of shadow his toes were encroaching on and then out into the sunlight.

Buffy was always pushing him to be reckless, forcing him out into the deadly daylight hours to be near her. She was thousands of miles away and she still pushed him into the light. He had to mail the letter now or else he'd be out of time. He didn't expect to survive the coming battle. He knew he stood a good chance of making it out alive. Or undead to more accurate. Being a vampire had its perks, but up against these odds he read his chances as slim nonetheless.

Hell, why was he doing this? She'd moved on. Found another guy to snuggle up to in the wee hours. And it's not like he hadn't played around with other ladies since he got back. The second he'd been made corporeal again, he'd had Harmony up on one of the office desks showing her what for and how. Just because their coitus had been interruptus'd didn't mean he hadn't been moving on quite well himself.

Not that it meant anything. Was just sex. Passing the time, scratching an itch. His heart knew better. Still belonged to a blond slayer with a holier than thou attitude and wicked right cross. He sighed as memories of her flooded his mind. The way her hair bounced as she strode forward determinedly. The rare smiles he'd spied when she was with her friends and family. The even rarer smiles directed at him.

It felt like ages since he'd last seen her, but she lived on vividly in his mind. He could see her face, hear her voice, feel the softness of her skin underneath his fingertips. She was with him even when he didn't consciously think of her. She was inside him. Soul deep.

Screwing up his courage, he tossed his duster over his head and leapt towards the mailbox, tossing the letter inside and jumping back into the shadows. He panted, staring at the mailbox and resisting the urge to rip it open and steal back the letter. He'd said too much, gotten too maudlin, worn his bloody heart on his sleeve. Damn.

Ah, well. He'd probably be dust by this time tomorrow. No harm done. He turned and started walking into the shadows. There were a few hours left till he was meant to meet Angel and the others. Looking for something to pass the time, he noticed a hole-in-the-wall bar around the corner and ducked inside. Glancing at the sign upfront announcing their drink specials, he smirked.

Poetry open-mic night. Just what he needed for his last night in the world – whiskey and rhymes. Might as well let it all hang out. He'd already sent Buffy his heart to do with what she pleased. How much courage would it take to read some of his poetry in public? Best start off with the drinkin', though. He raised his hand to catch the barkeep's attention and ordered a shot of whiskey, raising the glass to cheer the man before downing it quickly.

A large thug in a biker get-up pushed into him in the crowded room, turning to glare at Spike as he passed by. Spike smiled sardonically, "Ahh. Nice crowd."

The bartender leaned in to refill Spike's glass. "It can get pretty ugly in here, I gotta warn you."

Spike grabbed the shot glass and upended it. He looked around in anticipation before turning back to the bartender. "What I'm after. Couple more shots of courage, and I may make my presence felt."

The bartender scoffed as he refilled Spike's glass again. "Your funeral."

Spike raised the glass, grinning. "Well, I never had a proper one."


	2. Chapter 2

Spike stared at the bottle of whiskey on the bar in front of him. He glanced up and noticed his lack of reflection in the mirror behind the greasy bartender. Not that he had to worry about anyone noticing. It was a demon bar. Vampires welcome as long as they paid cash. Or kittens. Huh. He wondered if he should do something about the kittens. He doubted he'd make it out alive if he tried. Demons were funny about kittens. Only the slayer could scare them enough into letting her set their precious tabbies free. Maybe he'd call the ASPCA on the joint. Yeah. He'd do that tomorrow.

"Feeling lonely tonight?" A raspy voice purred in his ear.

Spike turned to face the brunette with the porn-star hair and the boobs to match it brushing up against the leather of his jacket. Her smile screamed sex and Spike glanced down at her straining cleavage before looking up to notice her heavily-lined eyes were a hazel-green.

"What's that, pet?" He'd forgotten what she'd asked. As fake breasts went, hers were certainly eye-catching. Or they were til he noticed the color of her eyes.

"You feeling lonely tonight?" Her mouth quirked flirtatiously as she waited for him to answer, stroking his right arm as she leaned in closer.

Spike shook his head and broke eye contact as he turned back towards the bar. Her eyes unnerved him. Wrong color. No, not the color - he liked the color. They just looked wrong. Shallow, maybe. No, hollow. They looked hollow. There was no light in them.

The girl pouted for a second then reconsidered her approach. She sat down on the stool to his right and crossed her legs towards him, painting her smile back on. "Wanna buy me a drink?"

Spike glanced at her out of the corner of his eye then nodded at the bartender. "Jack, give the lady whatever she wants."

"I'll have what he's having."

The bartender's eyes widened. "You want a whole bottle of Glenfiddich?"

She laughed a bit nervously. "Make it a shot." She toyed with the shot glass handed to her then turned back towards Spike. "So what should we toast to?"

Spike raised the bottle in front of him and tilted it her way before taking a hard slug. "Not much for toasting. Sorry." The girl's shoulders slumped as she lifted her glass and downed the shot.

"So you're a vampire, right? I heard about this bar from a friend of mine. Says that the non-killing variety of demon hangs out here." She leaned in closer running her painted fingernail along the collar of Spike's jacket.

"That's what you heard, eh?" Spike eyes narrowed as he looked at her. Vampire groupie. Figures. Stupid cows looking for a thrill with the Big Bad.

"I hear that vampires have amazing stamina." Her tongue caressed the syllables of the last word, lingering.

Spike leaned his head down slightly, his mouth quirking into a half-grin as he scoffed out a breath of air. "People do like to talk, don't they?"

"So what do you say? Wanna go somewhere more…private?" Her voice deepened into what he assumed was her sexy-bedroom voice.

"Can't. Kinda busy at the moment." Spike muttered offhand.

Her jaw dropped in surprise then she looked down at the bar. "Doing what? Writing on postcards?" She reached forward to grab one. "Who's Buffy? What kind of bimbo name is that? She your girlfriend?"

"Oy!" Spike grabbed the postcard back, snarling. "Hands off."

She raised both hands as she rolled her eyes. "I get it. Hands off. Off of everything." She grumbled the last line to herself. "I'm Christy, by the way. In case you wanted to know the name of the woman you just rejected."

Spike swept the remaining postcards together into one pile in front of him, encircled between his arms resting on the bar. He looked a bit suspiciously at Christy for a few moments. "Name's Spike."

"Spike." She repeated his name in a dull monotone.

"Yeah." He muttered in response.

"Okay." She sighed.

"Right."

They both sat facing the bar not looking at each other in silence for several minutes. Christy looked over her shoulder to see if anyone else might be worth talking to. They weren't. All she saw was slime, horns, flabby skin and creatures with scales. She sighed.

"So why are you writing to this Buffy girl on multiple postcards? Shouldn't one be enough?" At least this Spike guy was nice to look at, no matter how rude and grumpy he was. Being hot made up for a lot of character flaws.

Spike shook his head. "Not gonna send all of 'em. Like that would make sense."

"So what then?" Christy shook her head.

"Just…" Spike's gaze unfocused and Christy felt like he was looking right through her.

"Just what?" She asked frustratedly.

Spike looked down at the pile of postcards in front of him. "Just making sure I get it right. You know, don't come on too strong. Don't say anything embarrassing."

Christy rolled her eyes again. "If you're that worried, why even bother to write it? You're here torturing yourself over writing some chick a postcard. You realize you're pathetic, right?"

Spike closed his eyes and visibly clenched his jaw. Christy looked down at her empty shot glass and then reached across Spike's arm for his bottle. He jerked reflexively, tightening his arms around the postcards only to relax when he opened his eyes to see her reaching for the whiskey. Christy took a few more shots straight from the bottle, shaking her head after each hit.

"Whoo! Wow, that is intense." She looked at the bottle label. "I've never been a big fan of whiskey but this stuff ain't half bad." She smiled crookedly as she raised the bottle for another drink.

Spike started chuckling to himself. "Should be good, pet. I paid a pretty penny for it."

Christy hiccoughed and then giggled a bit. "Well, it sure does go down nice." She grabbed the bar with her free hand to steady herself. "So you want me to read it for you? Let you know if you're being…embla- embarrassing?"

"Oh, so you _can_ read?" Spike's mouth dimpled his left cheek.

"Yes, I can read and, and – shut up." Christy let go of the bottle to use both hands to brace herself as she wobbled on her bar stool, her stiletto heels grasping for purchase on the stool's foot rest as she blinked dazedly.

"You really can't hold your liquor, can you pet?" Spike's voice softened. He reached to steady her by the arm as he pushed the postcards into the inner pocket of his duster. "Come on, then. Let's get you home."

Christy let him help her down from her seat, holding her arm firmly as she wobbled from side to side in her heels. "We can't go home. It's not even…what time is it?"

"Time to go home, pet." Spike said as tossed money down on the bar and led her towards the door.

"I thought you didn't wanna go somewhere more private." Christy muttered as she let him walk her towards the door.

"Just doing my duty."

"Duty?" Christy squinted up at Spike, stumbling slightly as they weaved forward on the sidewalk.

Spike half-smiled. "Rescuing kittens."

_An hour later_

Spike stood on the sidewalk looking up at Christy's apartment building. Once he'd gotten her to tell him where she lived, they'd walked the few blocks to her place only stopping so Christy could vomit her guts out in each passing alley. Her roommate had helped her into bed, inviting Spike to stay for a drink. He'd passed on the offer.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the last postcard he'd been working on before Christy bumped into him at the bar. The last one. Pathetic. How many of them had he written? Enough to feel a bit heavy in his duster's pocket. He looked down at the oversized postcard with his tiny script squished together to fit everything he'd wanted to say. He'd even put a stamp on this one, thinking he'd finally got it right. Disgusted, he walked towards the trashcan on the side of the street. Raising his arm up, he clenched the postcard in his right hand prepared to toss it away only to stop and lower it slowly.

"Bollocks," Spike muttered angrily. He looked up the street and noticed a mailbox at the corner. Glancing back at the trashcan, he clenched his jaw and hurled the postcard inside. He stormed off, muttering "I'm not pathetic" to himself as he walked away.

Half a block down the street, he whipped around and ran back to the trashcan, leaning down to grab the postcard off the top of the rumpled heap. He wiped it on his jacket, brushing it clean carefully, inspecting it for any offensive damage. Seemed to be alright.

He looked up the street at the mailbox, straightened his shoulders and strode directly toward it. He grasped the handle of the mailbox firmly, opening it with a jerk and tossing the postcard in before he could change his mind. He jumped back, panting.

Spike nodded. "Right then." His chest rose as he continued to breathe heavily. "Right. Not pathetic."

The Postcard 

_Buffy,_

_So I made it out okay. Guess that's obvious. I thought I might as well tell you. Trying to keep it a secret didn't go so well last time. Bloody Andrew never could keep his trap shut. So yeah, was in hell for a bit. Not exactly what you'd expect. Torture, chaos, demon overlords – well okay, I guess it was what you'd expect. But the thing is it wasn't really hell. No eternal damnation going on. I didn't feel like I'd been judged or found wanting. None of that going down when the whole city went down with us in it. Was more an absence of judging. Like being abandoned. Forgotten. I doubt you even realized I was gone. Time had no meaning, right? _

_But at the end of the day you still have to get up and continue to fight. No matter how pointless it seems. Or how much you failed the day before. Life is still life even when you're in hell. Difference is you're constantly fighting for your right to live. Which hey, I'm used to so no strain there. It was harder on everybody else. I tried to help. Tried to keep them safe. I never really understood how hard it must have been for you that last year in Sunnydale. All those girls who… You lost them but you had to keep going, keep leading everyone. It really does make you tired. _

_I think a vacation is in order. Somewhere not too sunny with a nice nightlife. The Vegas strip isn't too far off. Guess I can avoid the sun easy enough. Might be fun to gamble with something disposable like money for a change. Doubt I'll be going to the demon casino there – kitten poker just isn't as fun as it used to be. And who knows? Maybe I'll figure out where I fit. _

_I hope you're okay. Better than okay. And that you don't mind me sending you this. I figure if you don't want to read it, you don't have to. Angel knows how to get in touch with me, if you needed anything. Not that I think you need anything, but just in case._

_You are okay, right? I just had this weird feeling. Ya know, the kind that just starts to make everything feel not quite right._

_Hope you're good. And you've got someone with you to watch your back._

_- Spike_


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This story loosely follows the comics canon. Buffy was never in Rome as shown in _The Girl in Question_, but rather leading a new Slayer organization of over 500 members in the fight against evil. The "Buffy" that Angel and Spike tried to visit in Rome was actually a decoy set-up by Andrew to protect the real Buffy and keep her true location a secret. Out of the 1800 Slayers that were activated during _Chosen _and the 500 Slayers that have chosen to work with Buffy, a group of Slayers led by one Slayer named Simone have gone rogue and have been abusing their power a la Faith in Season 3. Want. Take. Have. In Issue #23, Buffy and Andrew go to Rome to try to gain intel on Simone and her gang, only to be forced into a standoff on the island Simone has taken over off the coast of Italy. Andrew's squad of Slayers ("Italy squad" as he calls them) come to their rescue, but Buffy fails to rein in Simone or remove her from power. Simone's violent acts have brought intense scrutiny on the Slayers from the world's media coverage.

_Rome, Italy_  
_Nearly Two Years after Not Fade Away_

Buffy fumbled with the key as she worked to open her hotel room's door. As the lock clicked, she pushed her shoulder against the door and slipped inside. The snick of metal as it automatically closed behind her made her blink tiredly as she examined the sparse room in the fading light of the setting sun. Andrew was busy catching up with the Italy squad of Slayers and wouldn't be ready to leave for Scotland till morning. She'd overheard some of the girls talking excitedly about a night out on the town.

Night out on the town. How long had it been since she'd went out to party? Her dancing shoes probably had molded over from disuse. Actually, last time she'd danced her shoes were charred Cajun-style from Sweet's spell. Figures. She couldn't even dance on her own time – it always had to be to someone else's tune. Her shoulders shook as they reflexively hunched forward and she crossed her arms to hug her chest. Her trip to Rome had been all about business gone bad. She'd figured that things wouldn't play out peachy and keen, but she hadn't expected this. This feeling of failure. Again.

She trudged forward across the room to look out the window, the fading light casting warm orange and reddish tints on the shingled rooftops and stone encasements. The city felt old. It practically breathed, sighing with each wave of light that passed across its surface. She leaned against the window sill, staring aimlessly out as she watched the yellows and oranges give way to deeper reds and purples, soon to be enveloped by the creeping bluish blacks at the very edges of the sky. Darkness falling. Except it didn't fall. It greedily ate away at all the bright colors till they retreated beneath the horizon. Running away.

Buffy turned to push her forehead against the window casing, squeezing her eyes shut as she listened to the transitioning silence of day giving way to night. People were hurrying home to rest only to go out again once the dusk-hour passed. Her eyes flew open to the jarring sound of a woman shrieking from the street below, her battle-ready reflexes relaxing as she saw a tall man with wavy, dark hair release the shrieking woman from his arms to twirl her in a circle with a firm grasp on her hand. The woman laughed as she spun back into him and he bent forward to kiss her.

Buffy's mouth opened unconsciously as she watched the lovers' feverish embrace in the middle of the strata. She leaned forward, unable to look away as the man tilted the woman back, cradling her head in his arms as he deepened his kiss. A ruckus of catcalls forced the lovers apart, laughing as they smiled up at each other. Buffy blinked and looked down, suddenly too embarrassed to watch anymore.

She swallowed tightly and blindly reached for the shutters, pulling them closed and blocking out the last bits of light in her room. Feeling her way, she bumped into the nightstand by her bedside before letting her knees give way and falling down on the mattress. She rolled to the side and pulled a pillow from beneath the headboard to hug against her chest. It was too early to go to sleep but that's all she wanted to do now. Just close her eyes and forget. Forget about Simone and her rogue gang of slayers. Forget about the little girl who'd lost her home. The little girl who Buffy had promised to help. And failed. Sure, they'd all made it out alive. But that wasn't enough. It was never enough these days.

An entire island full of people had been forced to abandon their homes. All because of a Slayer with a major jones for power. Taking the island was only the most recent transgression in the eyes of the world. Everyone was watching and judging. Slayers were evil. They were dangerous. They attacked innocent people and forced them to run in fear instead of protecting them. The world didn't know about the Slayers who bled for them every night, who died in battle against the forces of darkness. They didn't know about the silent heroes. All they saw was the abuse of power from the misguided few. She didn't know where to begin or how to fix this mess. Andrew had suggested releasing footage of the slayers in action fighting evil, but Buffy had rejected the idea.

_What I do is too important to show the world. _

She still thought that was true. She knew it deep down inside. She wasn't going to beg the public for a PR pardon when she was needed on the front lines, teaching the girls how to fight, showing them how to lead. There was so much they still hadn't learned. She had to be there to make sure they –

A knock on the door cut off her train of thought. Buffy considered ignoring it. Andrew and the Italian squad were the only ones who knew where she was and she so didn't want to deal with more Slayer business right now. Not when she was so tired. A minute passed and just as she began to hope that her visitor had left, a staccato of raps against the door forced her eyes open.

She sighed as she leaned across the bed to turn on the bedside lamp, rolling off the mattress to stand upright. Buffy shrugged her shoulders stiffly as she walked forward to answer the door, pausing by the vanity mirror to brush the hair back from her face. She absently touched the shadows beneath her eyes. Oh well, can't make those disappear without some magic concealer. Where's Will when you really need her? Turning back to face the door, she stopped with her hand on the doorknob. Breathing deeply as she composed her face into a neutral expression, Buffy straightened her shoulders. Game face on - check.

Buffy pulled the door open and blinked at the bright light pouring in from the hallway. A woman stood on the other side of the doorway, looking intent and nervous. She stepped back in surprise as if she hadn't expected anyone to answer her knock. Buffy stared at the young woman quizzically, trying to remember a blond slayer with green eyes from Andrew's squad. Her face looked strangely familiar but she couldn't place her. Buffy waited for the woman to speak, but she just stood there staring right back at her.

Suddenly frustrated and too weary to try figuring out how she knew this girl, Buffy broke the awkward silence. "Yes? Can I help you?" Buffy's eyebrows rose expectantly, inching even further up as the girl blinked and nervously licked her lips. Rolling her eyes, Buffy waved her hand in front of the girl's face. "Hello? Did you want something?"

"Are you –" The girl hesitated, staring at Buffy's face with eyes wide like she couldn't look away. "…are you Buffy?"

"That depends. Who's asking?" Buffy narrowed her eyes as she took the girl's measure. Something about this whole set-up just felt off. Her shoulders tensed as she watched the Slayer suspiciously, wondering if Simone had followed her to Rome for round two. The hallway behind the girl appeared empty, but that didn't mean much when you were dealing with a bunch of preternatural Slayers trained in stealth. Except this Slayer didn't look like she was dressed for an ambush, but a night out clubbing. Not that Buffy was judging her stylish fashion choices. She'd gone patrolling in skimpier gear in years past, back when she wasn't in charge of a Slayer army and actually had a social life.

The blonde girl laughed as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm …" She shook her head before continuing quietly. "I'm Buffy." She grinned suddenly, her voice gaining strength. "The Vampire Slayer. "

Buffy's head tilted to the side as her eyes lost focus on the girl's face. Did she just say…? "Did you just say…huh?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Huh? Who are you?" Buffy repeated herself dazedly, shaking her head in confusion.

"I'm Buffy the –"

"Yeah, you said that already. But who the _hell_ are you?" Buffy's voice shook with anger as she clenched her jaw. Her hands tightened into fists as she leaned forward to force the girl to answer. And suddenly it clicked. Rome. Andrew. A girl that looked familiar because she looked a bit like Buffy herself. Even down to the stylish clothes Buffy had been coveting a few moments ago. It was the sort of outfit Buffy would wear if she had a choice, if she'd been living a different life. This girl was the decoy set up by Andrew to provide a cover for Buffy's secret location. "You're her. The girl Andrew – "

The other Buffy was already nodding. "Yeah, I'm her. And you're…_you_. Wow." The girl spoke in quiet awe, eyes wide with amazement. Buffy recognized that look. She'd seen it on hundreds of newly called Slayers' faces. Like she was Gandhi, Rambo and Barack Obama all rolled up into a cute, blond Slayer package. She was a legend and very uncomfortable with the star status. Even Simone held a wealth of respect for Buffy, though apparently not enough to stop wreaking havoc.

Buffy's rigid stance loosened when she realized the girl in front of her wasn't a threat. As the tension drained away, all the exhaustion held off by the rush of adrenaline and anger came flooding back. She shook her head, trying to find focus. "So what are you doing here?"

The girl broke eye contact to look down both sides of the empty hallway. "Can I come in?" she asked hesitantly.

Buffy nodded absently, stepping back to let the girl enter her room. She closed the door and turned to look again at her visitor, taking closer note of her appearance. Superficially, they could have been confused for sisters or even twins. But there were some marked differences. This girl's eyes were a bright, clear green compared to Buffy's hazel color. She was a few inches taller than Buffy and not as petite in build.

The general resemblance was striking though and from a distance Buffy imagined that anyone who knew her would initially be fooled by this doppelganger. Even the girl's hair was styled to perfectly match Buffy's in cut and color, though her twin actually took the time to style it so it flowed and curled softly against her shoulders. Buffy found herself throwing her own hair up into a ponytail nine times out of ten. No time to style it in between training sessions, nightly slayage, trips to the future and massive attacks on downtown Tokyo.

The most noticeable difference in the girl's face was her nose, straight and rounded at the tip. Buffy resisted the urge to rub her own nose in response. Not that she was still self-conscious about it - she'd gotten over that in high school. She'd totally gotten over it. Buffy bit her lip and looked down, noticing for the first time how pale her skin had become. Her twin boasted a radiant tan, the kind of tan Buffy could only get from a tanning bed nowadays as she spent most of her time in Scotland where sunshine was a rare commodity. Buffy rubbed her arms self-consciously. It felt like looking at a more attractive version of herself.

Buffy remembered Giles telling her a story about a cave where people were chained and forced to watch the world through the shadows projected on the walls. That there was a place where perfect forms existed, the pure versions of the distorted forms found in the real world. This girl who was pretending to be Buffy had somehow upstaged the real one. It made her feel like she was a broken copy, inferior. Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. Her stare met the other girl's eyes expectantly. "So?"

"I shouldn't be here, ya know? Us being seen in the same place at the same time? Badness." The other Buffy started pacing from the window back to the center of the room, skirting around the corner of the bed each time she passed it.

Buffy watched her twin working up the nerve to answer her question. The girl seemed torn, wanting to speak but holding back. Watching her move around the room with so much nervous energy made Buffy feel her exhaustion even more acutely. She gazed longingly at the bed then back at her energetic guest. Exasperated, Buffy cleared her throat loudly. "Look, whatever-your-name-is. You came here for a reason, right? Not to just do a few hundred laps around my room?"

The girl stopped mid-walk to look back at Buffy over her shoulder. She sighed dejectedly and sat down on the bed, shaking her head worriedly. "I just don't know where to start. It's not like I've ever done this before."

Buffy's eyes twitched slightly as she watched the girl cross her arms defensively to hug herself as she sat on the corner of the bed. _Her_ bed. Her jaw tightened reflexively and she started to grind her teeth. Be nice, be patient, don't snap at her. "Why don't you start with why you're here?" Buffy said slowly through gritted teeth and a stiff smile.

The girl looked up to stare into Buffy's eyes, a solemn expression on her face. "I have something of yours. Something that belongs to you."

Buffy jerked back in surprise at those words, laughing slightly. "It's not a weapon stuck in block of stone, is it? 'Cause I already have one of those."

The girl laughed. "No, it's definitely not a weapon. It's a – " Her smile faded slowly and her eyes became a bit sad. "It's a letter."

"A letter?" Buffy smiled suddenly. "That's it? So why the dire? Unless you think the postal service has been infiltrated by evil and needs to be slayed? Which I'm not saying isn't possible. Just that we kinda have more urgent priorities right now." Chuckling, Buffy walked over to sit in the chair facing the bed. Her eyes sparkled with restored good humor as she held out her hand.

The other Buffy looked away and reached into her bag to pull out an envelope. She started to hand it over only to stop and hold it between both hands in her lap, head hanging down. "It's not the original one. I don't have that anymore. But it's a scanned version I uploaded onto my computer." She looked up at Buffy, then down at the envelope.

"Okay. Fine." Buffy stretched her arm out further, palm upwards to accept the letter. The girl handed it over reluctantly and looked down. Buffy shook her head and pulled the folded letter out.

_Buffy - I've tried so many times to think of the perfect words to say to you. To let you know I was back from the great beyond._

Back? No. How? Buffy's eyes widened in shocked disbelief as she read on, her head shaking from side to side in denial. She began to feel dizzy as she forgot to breathe out, finally gasping when her body forced her to exhale. The words bled together as her eyes watered with suppressed emotion. Her chest burned. A tear slipped down her cheek unnoticed until it dropped onto the sheet of paper Buffy gripped with taut fingers. She blotted at the moisture, frowning as the ink smeared.

Spike was alive. Or at least he was when he wrote this letter. The way he wrote, he made it sound like his being "back" might not last past the night he mailed this to her. The bed creaked as her forgotten guest fidgeted awkwardly. Buffy's head shot up.

"When did you get this?" she interrogated, eyes fierce.

"It was…" the girl trailed off nervously in the face of Buffy's intense stare.

"_When?_" Buffy demanded.

"A year ago. Almost. It was back in May. Or maybe June of 2004. Around then." The girl's voice wavered uncertainly.

"And were there any other letters after this? Did he write again?"

The girl shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry." She looked at Buffy sympathetically.

Buffy's eyes widened as she tried to blink back her tears. She struggled to swallow over the knot in her throat. Her body seemed to fold in on itself. She let her head fall forward, her lower lip quivering as she leaned her head slightly to rest on her upraised shoulder.

The girl's eyes filled with emotion as she watched Buffy, not knowing what to say. "I'm sorry. I just…I thought you should know." She finished softly.

Buffy raised her head woodenly at those last words, nodding slowly as she stared through the girl in front of her. Her expression went blank as she swallowed and blinked involuntarily every few seconds.

The girl stood up slowly and moved to leave. As she passed the vanity mirror halfway to the door, she turned to look at Buffy one last time. Buffy hadn't moved. She sat frozen, staring off into space, no expression on her face. The girl turned back towards the door and took a step forward, gasping in surprise as a hand on her arm jerked her to a stop and whipped her around to face Buffy again.

The girl panted slightly, looking into Buffy's stormy eyes still wet with unshed tears. Buffy's gaze traveled over the girl's face as her grasp on the girl's arm remained firm. It would have broken a normal human's arm, but even for a Slayer her grip felt unbearably tight. Buffy opened her mouth, her lips moving as if to speak yet no sound came out.

"You said… " Buffy's voice trailed off as she noticed the mirror on the wall behind them. Her eyes narrowed as she pulled the girl around like a doll so they both stood facing the mirror. With her free hand, Buffy reached out to touch her own reflection then that of the girl standing next to her. They were identical. All the minor differences Buffy had noticed earlier had disappeared. The girl's reflection looked exactly like Buffy. Buffy looked away from the reflection to look at the girl's face, turning back to the mirror with eyes wide in amazement.

"Magic." The girl whispered softly. She nodded at her reflection. "That's how everyone sees me now. You're the only one who doesn't see the illusion. Except when…" She nodded at the mirror again.

"Who _are_ you?" Buffy shook her head from side to side, hoping to clear her vision.

The girl smiled sadly. "I'm Buffy."

Buffy continued to shake her head. "No, that's not your real name."

The girl looked away from Buffy to gaze at her reflection. "That's who I am now. If I forget, if I think for a second that I'm anyone else, I put lives in danger. I _am_ Buffy. That's who I have to be."

Buffy let go of the girl's arm, letting her hand drop limply to her side. She stood in silence, too stunned to respond. The girl turned to leave again and Buffy suddenly remembered.

"Wait! You said…you said that you didn't have the original copy anymore." The girl turned to look at Buffy, her eyes wary. Buffy swallowed tightly before continuing. "What happened to it?"

The girl looked down and licked her lips. "It's gone. I don't have it anymore."

Buffy's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You don't have it?" The girl shook her head guiltily. "Who _does_ have it?" Buffy asked slowly, eyes intent.

The girl's head hung even lower, her head shaking slightly as she turned to pull open the door. She paused in the doorway and finally raised her eyes to look at Buffy directly. "I gave it away. I don't know what happened to it after that."

"Who did you give it to?" Buffy spoke in a low tone, holding the girl's gaze without blinking.

The girl sighed. "Mr. Giles. I gave it to Mr. Giles."


	5. Chapter 5

Buffy sat in the darkened corner, waiting. Her first reaction after learning Giles had kept Spike's return a secret had been to call him and demand an explanation. Said demands coming in the form of extremely angry yelling. And boy daddy, she'd tried.

But as it usually happened nowadays, Buffy couldn't get Giles on the phone. Giles didn't want to talk to her. Oh, the irony. Apparently, Giles didn't want _anyone_ communicating with her directly. She'd stewed in growing anger for hours after the other Buffy had left, finding no outlet to vent her rage.

After the third hour had passed, she'd realized she was actually glad that Giles hadn't been 'available to take her call'. She already knew what Giles would say to her. She could hear his voice in her head saying that he'd done it for her own good. That knowing Spike was alive would only upset her. That there was no future with a souled vampire and he wanted more for her than an unhealthy attachment to a member of the undead. He'd excuse his own sketchy behavior and somehow make her the guilty party for failing to live up to his expectations. The Giles in her head was seriously pissing her off.

No. She was done talking. She was done with excuses and false truths. And that's all Giles would give her now. He'd try to placate her and when that didn't work, he'd guilt trip her by reminding her that her duty was to her Slayers first and foremost. Like she didn't already know that. Like devoting every second of her life for over the past year and a half wasn't enough proof that she understood her priorities. Buffy understood sacrifice. She sacrificed her life everyday for the mission. For the girls she'd made into Slayers. Every day she paid the price.

That price had never felt so high before. What if he didn't make it? Was that why he hadn't written again? The world would be so cruel to bring him back only for her to discover that he was already gone again. Stupid world.

No, she was glad that Giles hadn't wanted to talk to her because it made her realize what she had to do. It was time to take action and she knew just where to start.

Voices laughing from down the hall carried through the closed hotel room door. Buffy tensed in anticipation. The door opened after several failed drunken attempts to slide in the key. Andrew stumbled into his room, already half-undressed with his dress shirt pulled out of his slacks, his tie loosened and hanging askew. When he threw his jacket on the floor and started slipping out of his shoes, Buffy decided it was time to put a halt to this very unwanted strip show.

"Andrew," Buffy drawled menacingly as she clicked on the lamp next to the chair she lounged in.

"Sweet bejeesus!" Andrew tripped over his shoes, falling back into the dresser behind him. "Ow!" Banging his head, he flailed about caught in his half untied shoes as he fell to the floor. Rolling over onto his back, he turned his head to find Buffy watching him with one eyebrow raised. "Oh. Hey, Buffy. How is our fair Roma treating the Slayer Generalissimo?"

"Have a good time tonight, Andrew?" Buffy's voice held a dark undercurrent beneath her falsely sweet tone.

Fumbling into a sitting position only to trip over his shoes again, Andrew's face was flushed from his night out carousing. "Heh. You know what they say about Slayers – all work and no play leads to extremely grumpy Slayers. And extreme grumpiness leads to the Dark side."

Andrew's face screwed up quizzically. "Or it makes you a dwarf in service to a beautiful princess forced to abandon her home because of an evil queen who's desperately hoping that her Prince Charming will restore her with True Love's kiss." Andrew rested his chin on his fist, continuing to ramble in his tipsy state. "Don't you miss Disney back in the day when they did their old school animation? Back before they sold their soul for the cool new toys. It _truly_ was a Golden Age."

Andrew's gaze unfocused as his imagination carried him away. Buffy's silence coupled with her calculating stare brought him crashing back to reality. He looked at her uncertainly, crawling up to sit on the bed and face her.

"You like stories, don't you Andrew?" Buffy's gaze was intense and unblinking, her mouth firm.

"Sure, who doesn't?" Andrew started fiddling with his cufflinks and accidentally knocked one off his sleeve. He lurched forward, trying to catch it but it fell to the floor at Buffy's feet. She leaned down to pick it up, examining the silver design in the shape of a light saber. She quirked her left eyebrow and looked back at Andrew with a half-smile. Andrew returned her smile ingratiatingly. Buffy's upper lip curled to bare her teeth. Andrew bit his lip and gulped audibly.

Buffy held the cufflink up in front of her, tilting her head to look at it more closely. "I've never been a huge fan of mysteries myself. I always go for the romance, action and humor - the Princess Bride-effect. But I think I'm finally starting to see the attraction." Buffy's hard smile accompanied her musing tone. "Mysteries are about that moment when you just get it. Everything makes sense and you realize how it all fits. See, I had all these puzzle pieces laid out before me and I didn't even realize that when I put them together – they told a story. Can you guess what it was?"

Andrew's eyes widened and he pursed his lips, shaking his head. He looked at the silver cufflink being casually tossed from Buffy's right hand to her left and back again. She occasionally paused to roll it between her index finger and thumb.

"No guesses? I'll give you a hint. The first piece in the puzzle - LA." She raised her eyebrows expectantly while Andrew's face looked baffled. "Not enough? How about this one – Angel. Still not enough? Dana." Buffy paused again before continuing, jaw clenched. "Still don't get it? I'll give you a big one – vampire with a soul." She sat back in the chair, watching Andrew start to squirm while she fiddled with the cufflink. She smiled tightly. "That's better. Now is there something you want to tell me, Andrew?"

Andrew laughed awkwardly. "Well as you've heard, my quest to the city of Angels led me to the evil citadel of the Wolf, Ram and Hart where I found myself facing many a harrowing experience. Little did I know that Angel the Vampyre would so boldly challenge my right to guardianship of the crazed Slayer, Dana." Andrew waved his finger. "Oh, but the Dark One had underestimated his opponent. In the end, the side of Slayerly righteousness won the day…or night since it was dark out. And Angel the Vampyre was sent back to his evil fortress impotent and empty-handed."

Andrew smiled like a child expecting a cookie for a job well done. Buffy stared at him, silent. "Erm, though no blows were exchanged it truly was a battle to the death. By glaring. Oh yes, we had a death glare-off royale! For the brooding great one was no match for Andrew, the greatest watcher in all the lan – "

Buffy slammed her fist against the table next to her, leaning forward with gritted teeth. "No more lying to me, Andrew. Not to _me_." She leaned forward and held the light saber cufflink between her index finger and thumb, pushing down until the metal was a flattened mess. She tossed it into Andrew's lap. "_Understand?_"

"So you wanna talk about…" Andrew's voice trailed off.

"Spike's alive. Or he was…" Buffy's voice caught in her throat. She closed her eyes and clenched her fists tightly. Head bent down, she opened her eyes to glare at Andrew. "Spike came back. And you're going to tell me _everything_ you know."

"Right-y-oh, boss." Andrew's voice cracked, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple.

Buffy nodded stiffly, satisfaction coloring her face. "Good. 'Cause I'm done playing your games." She leaned forward, the fire in her eyes holding Andrew in rapt attention. "It's time you started playing mine."

_12 hours later_

_Rome Airport_

Andrew rapped his fingers against the ticket counter, his entire body humming with nervous energy. The ticket sales agent paused in entering his travel information to glance at him strangely. He smiled in a creepily reassuring way and she widened her eyes behind her glasses, typing faster in order to get the bizarre man away from her post. "Two tickets to Glasgow. Would you like a window or an aisle seat?"

"Window." The petite blonde woman standing next to the peculiar American answered automatically. "Please." She added as an afterthought, looking uncertainly at her male companion.

The saleslady nodded and entered in the information. "Two tickets for Andrew Wells and…" She looked up at the pair when they failed to answer immediately.

The blonde woman flashed her perfect teeth in a big smile and handed over her ID for verification. "Buffy. Buffy Summers."

"Buffy?" The saleslady barely suppressed a smirk, printing out the two boarding passes and handing them over to the man with the obnoxious manners.

Andrew grabbed the tickets from the saleslady's hand and mock saluted. "Mille grazie, ticket lady. Ciao ciao!"

The pair turned and slowly worked their way towards the boarding gate in silence. Thirty minutes later, they took a seat by the gate and waited. Andrew remained jittery, glancing over his shoulder every few minutes and scanning the crowds. "Buffy." His mouth quirked after saying her name.

"Hmmm…" she answered absentmindedly, lost in thought.

"It's gonna work out. I can tell. It's gonna work out great." Andrew's chipper voice rose above the general din of the airport boarding area as he rocked back and forth in his seat.

She looked at him skeptically. "That'd be loads more convincing if you weren't acting like a kid who forgot to take his Adderall." She took a deep breath as the flight attendant called all the passengers to prepare to board their flight. "I guess it's time to face the music."

Andrew nodded. "Showtime."

They walked towards the gate, slowly moving forward in line as the group boarded the plane. A blonde woman in sunglasses and a dark overcoat watched their progress from across the room. She stood like a silent statue, her arms crossed over her chest. When the attendant finally closed the boarding gate, the woman walked to the window to watch the plane depart, staring as it taxied along the runway and prepared for takeoff. Her breath caught as the plane began to move forward, faster and faster, until it was airborne. She watched it rise into the sky, her heart in her throat, hazel eyes wide behind the tinted glasses. The plane finally disappeared from sight over the horizon and she let out a deep sigh. A smile slowly spread across her face.

A woman's voice over the PA system announced, _"Now boarding international flight 1630 to Los Angeles…"_


	6. Chapter 6

_35,000 Feet _

_En Route to Los Angeles_

Buffy had always loved flying. The exhilaration of takeoff as her body raced forward within the metal bullet, the struggle to defy gravity in the first few seconds off the ground, the way her ears popped as she was carried up into the sky. The otherworldly excitement as she chased her heart which had already flown high above her.

She swelled with emotion and feeling in those first few moments only to settle into a quiet, surreal wonder as the plane leveled at its high altitude. She loved the journey as she passed over the world from on high, enshrined in the fragile safety of metal and mechanics, watching cities and towns in their newly miniature scope.

During the day, she loved passing through the clouds and imagining she could reach through the thick Plexiglas to let the streams of white gossamer float through her fingertips. When night fell, she marveled at the stars that had fallen to Earth to light up the ground below, rivaling the sky in their brilliance.

Buffy loved the way her heart raced as the plane began its descent, how her stomach jumped and her body instinctively leaned forward in anticipation of the landing. How for a few moments she was between worlds, land and sky, and she reveled in the powerful sensation of being pushed forward while the brakes grappled with the force of the plane's forward momentum.

She felt giddy after every landing as she returned to solid ground. With each step forward the sensation of flying faded away till her land legs were firmly rooted and her heart settled back into her chest. But the true wonder of sensation – it stayed with her long after her fall from the sky. In her memory and imagination she could still feel the clouds whipping past her and see the stars blazing within the black canvas of terra firma.

Buffy loved flying. Or at least she usually did. But this time the race to the sky made her body clench in anxiety and fear.

What if Spike was dead?

The sun breaking through the clouds on the horizon didn't inspire wonder but made her flinch as she imagined his ashes scattered on the cavernous stone of the Hellmouth floor. The high altitude didn't lead to pleasant musings about the world below, but made her feel alone and set apart.

What if Spike hadn't written her again because he'd found someone else?

She imagined him kissing Drusilla, kissing Harmony, kissing an unknown woman in shadow who clutched at his shoulders as he ravished her mouth.

What if Spike no longer loved her?

She imagined him sneering at her, telling her it wasn't even all that good while it lasted and that he'd already died for her once and wasn't that enough?

Everything Buffy loved about flying had abruptly shifted until the experience was foreign and terrifying. The only constant that remained was her heart. Her heart that had flown up into the sky as it always did as the plane took off. Her heart that she continued to chase in choked desperation. Yet she feared this one time it was forever lost to her. She would chase her heart across the world but never find it again.

She imagined Spike dead. She imagined him in love with someone else. She imagined him hating her and blaming her for leaving him to die inside the Hellmouth. She imagined so many nightmare scenarios waiting for her at the end of her flight. Everything she imagined was wrong.

_Alystrata Casino_

_Las Vegas_

Spike's head smashed into the pavement from the hard fists bashing him in the face. He growled through his fangs and caught the other vampire by the wrists, flipping him over his head as he whipped his shoulders back against the ground. Using that momentum, he swung his legs back down as he kipped up into a standing position, spinning around on the balls of his feet. His snarl fell when he looked at the cloud of dust where his opponent should have lain. He glared at his hunting companion who was supposed to have stayed on the sidelines for the fight.

Connor shrugged. "Sorry. You were just taking your sweet time. I figured I'd finish him off for you."

Spike looked up at the sky in disbelief before turning his narrowed gaze on Angel's son. "You know, next time you decide to come a-visitin' Uncle Spike, you might wanna think about giving me some incentive to actually issue the invite. Here's a hint – don't bogart my kill. I've been hunting that lowlife wanker for the better part of a week and when I finally get him out in the open, you…" Spike growled again.

Connor raised his hands up. "Hey! Sorry. Won't happen again. It just looked like you were getting your face pummeled, is all."

"Pfft. I had him right where I wanted 'im."

"You're right. I see that now. I was wrong. So very wrong." Connor face twitched as he struggled to keep from smirking.

Spike glared at Connor before bending down to pick up his forgotten stake, shoving it angrily into his jacket pocket. "Didn't ask when you showed up on my doorstep all pathetic looking, but why are you here anyway? Shouldn't Papa Bear be shitting his proverbial brick right about now what with you subjecting yourself to my bad influence?"

"Nah, Dad's cool with me taking a vacation. Or he would be if I'd told him about it." The smile faded from Connor's face. "I just needed to get away for a little bit."

Spike sighed and started walking through the charred remains of the casino lobby. Halfway to the door, he turned to look at Connor who stood frozen in place. Spike raised his eyebrows and jerked his head towards the exit, waiting for Connor to start walking forward before he continued on.

"So how'd you know he'd be here? The vamp." Connor ducked under a fallen ceiling beam as he waited for Spike's explanation.

"Place burned down about a year ago." Spike looked around at the blackened walls. "Perfect hideout for our kind."

"But how'd you figure he was here? I've been helping you track him for the past day and his scent was nowhere in the area. No trail to follow."

"Wasn't him I was following." Spike breathed in deeply through his nostrils. "You smell that?"

Connor closed his eyes and inhaled. After a few moments, he opened his eyes to look at Spike questioningly. "What? What is it?"

"That scent. Destruction. Despair. Fear. Death. It's all burned into the walls here. It's irresistible to a demon." Spike's eyes hardened. "The bastard couldn't stay away."

They walked in silence to Spike's Viper parked a few blocks away from the abandoned remains of the casino. Connor stared at the massive dent above the front passenger tire. He absently kicked at the tire as he waited for Spike to unlock the door. Finally slipping inside, he turned to look at Spike expectantly and nodded in the direction of the dent. "What happened?"

Spike glanced at Connor while he turned the ignition and started driving back towards home. "Vänrak demon."

"I had no idea Vänraks were so evil. Going around denting expensive sports cars." Connor shook his head in mock disillusionment. "Petty vandalism. It's just so…petty. Did he at least leave a note with all his insurance info?"

Annoyed, Spike turned to look at Connor. "It wasn't vand – don't make me pull this car over."

"Wouldn't dream of it. Who knows what else this Vänrak did to your car? I'm just praying it'll get us back to your place before it dies on us." Connor settled back into his seat with his arms crossed over his chest, smiling as he looked out the window.

Spike kept his mouth shut, driving in silence. He stroked the steering wheel with his thumbs, occasionally patting it in a placating manner. Connor looked at Spike out of the corner of his eye, certain he'd heard Spike murmuring 'sorry, sweetheart' under his breath. He decided that would be taking the weird to an all new heights and pretended he didn't have superhuman hearing that could discern a pin dropping from 100 feet away.

Connor turned to stare out the window, hunching down into his seat. He sighed and looked back at Spike. Staring ahead at a scratch in the dashboard, he broke the silence. "Gwen and I broke up. Again."

Spike turned his head slightly without losing sight of the road. "Sorry to hear that," he said softly after a prolonged silence.

Connor exhaled loudly. "Yeah well, I should've known it wasn't gonna work. After what she did. We tried, but I guess…" Connor stared down at the floorboard of the car. "I guess once you lose the trust, you can't get it back. I kept waiting for her to stab me in the back like before. To turn on me." Connor squeezed his eyes shut, holding them closed for a few seconds before blinking rapidly. He pushed back hard against the headrest, bracing himself with the reassuring pressure. "The worst part is that I still love her. I just can't stand to be around her. Because of the person I become, the things I think and feel. I don't want to be the guy who's always wondering when his girlfriend is going to betray him again."

Spike grunted. "'ve been there. A few hundred times with Dru. She'd always wander off, playing around with other demons till she got bored and decided to come home. And I'd always take her back. Always. Managed to convince myself she really loved me and that it was just her being…Dru. But there was always a part of me that knew she'd do it again. Took a long time before I finally learned to stop making excuses for her."

Connor squinted. "How'd you do that?"

Spike chuckled painfully. "Fell in love with someone else. As far as easy solutions go, I don't recommend it. The cure was just as painful as the disease. Maybe more." Spike's voice became solemn. "Most definitely more."

"So you wish you'd never fell in love with this other girl?"

Spike scowled at Connor. "Don't be an idiot."

Connor shook his head, his brow furrowed. "Then I don't get it. You said falling for this other girl was worse than being with Dru. Worse than being with a woman that cheated on you, that you couldn't trust."

"Never said it was worse. Said it was painful." Spike stared straight ahead at the horizon. He continued in a soft voice, musing. "Pain isn't always a bad thing, you know. Pain lets you know you're still alive inside. Pain shows you how deep the feeling goes. You'll never truly know love till you've gotten your heart ripped out from your chest. Heartbreak is part of the way love works its will. Love brings the highest highs and the lowest lows. Love takes you to an all new dimension of pain. Nothing can compare to the ecstasy of a bleeding heart."

Connor shook his head again, confused. "I think I'll pass on that then. I've had enough pain to last a dozen lifetimes."

Spike blinked, his eyes refocusing on the road ahead. "Yeah. Guess so."


	7. Chapter 7

_Hyperion Hotel_

_Los Angeles_

Angel sat in his office, staring at the phone and willing it to ring. Connor had disappeared without any word of his whereabouts a few days ago. Angel worked hard to not hover or smother his son, but he knew Connor hadn't been back to his apartment since he'd broken up with Gwen. Connor hadn't told anyone where he was going, he'd just vanished. He wasn't answering his cell phone or returning any of Angel's messages. There'd been no word of Connor getting into a fight according to Angel's demon contacts and with his newfound fame anything that happened to his son would make waves. Waves the size of tsunamis. Connor was lying low. Angel wasn't even sure Connor was still in LA.

"No news yet?" Nina leaned against the office doorway, her face doing little to mask her concern for both Connor and Angel.

Angel shook his head, his grave expression never shifting.

"He'll be fine. Connor can take care of himself. He's tough." Nina smiled. "Just like his dad."

Angel looked away and sighed heavily. "Yeah," he answered softly.

"Maybe it'd be a good idea to go out. I've been researching that case about the random acts of demonic cult activity downtown." Nina walked to the desk, placing a handful of papers in front of Angel. "Turns out – not so random." She pointed to the location in the center of the map. "I think we should check it out. So far no one's been hurt, but that kind of mojo can't be good news."

Angel pushed the papers away. "Have Kate look into it. If there's something there, she'll know what to do. Right now it doesn't seem like much to go on." Angel stood and walked towards the microwave in the corner of the office. He pushed start and watched the mug full of blood slowly spin inside.

Disappointed, Nina picked up the papers and walked towards the door. "Yeah, okay. I'll let her know. Maybe go with her myself." She paused in the doorway. "I'll call if we find anything."

"Yeah, great. Do that," Angel said absently with his back to the door.

The microwave dinged and Angel pulled out the mug, sipping it as he walked back towards his desk. He resumed staring at the phone, unable to think about anything but Connor. Angel knew how painful break-ups could be and he understood the need to get some distance, maybe gain some perspective. What worried him was that apparently gaining perspective for Connor meant leaving town.

His mug of blood forgotten, Angel continued to stare at the phone as he thought about all the times in the past few months that Connor had come to him for advice about his relationship with Gwen. Angel hadn't been able to help much. He had over 150 years of experience with Darla, but no experience gained there resembled a healthy relationship.

And Buffy, well, half of the time he was in Sunnydale he spent trying to stay away from Buffy, the other half trying to drive her insane and eventually kill her. Plus the whole open communication thing was never their strong suit. There were so many horrible things he was afraid she'd find out about him. That the light in her eyes when she saw him, that light would fade away till it was replaced with disgust. Honesty was always a struggle for them. And trust. Love came easily. But the trust…

Then there was Cordy. Who he trusted so easily. Completely. She'd seen him at his darkest hours and still stood by his side. But they'd never really been together. Not really. Just when things were starting to build towards something more--well, towards something--she was taken away and he'd never really gotten her back. They'd missed their moment and now she was gone. Their first kiss when both of them knew how they felt about each other was their last. A goodbye kiss.

Angel didn't know what to tell Connor. He didn't have any sage advice for how to make things work with Gwen. He'd tried being supportive and saying the right things, but he knew he was falling short. That Connor was frustrated with his inability to help. Angel was used to failing his son, just like he'd been used to failing his father. But every time he tried so hard to do the right thing. Every time.

Lost in thought, the phone rang three times before the sound penetrated Angel's brood. His hand shot forward to pick up the phone. "Hello?"

"Dad? Hey Dad, it's me." Connor's voice came through a bit fuzzily over the bad connection. Angel slumped back into his chair as the tension drained from his body, silent. He smiled as he listened to the sound of Connor's voice. "Just wanted to let you know I'm on my way back. And I'm bringing someone with me. You might remember him – has a thing for leather, cusses every other word and can't go five minutes without a cigarette."

Angel heard a muffled, "Who doesn't have a thing for leather, no I don't and yes I can." He rolled his eyes. "That's fine, Connor. Anything to have you home."

"Right. I'll be back soon." Connor paused. "Sorry I left like that."

"It's okay. I knew you'd be fine." Angel strained to act reassuring. "See you when you get home."

As the line went dead, Angel slowly lowered the phone and looked at it. He smiled as he hung up. Glancing at the mug still full of blood that had now cooled over, he picked it up and downed it quickly. Feeling ravenous, he stood and walked towards the miniature fridge underneath the microwave, bending down to get another bag of blood to heat up. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. He'd only made the mug of blood earlier so Nina wouldn't fuss at him like she'd been doing the past few days. He slit open the bag and poured it into the mug, placing it inside the microwave and pushing start. Instead of staring aimlessly at the circling mug, his eyes lost focus as he imagined Connor walking through the door.

"And here I was worried you'd be too busy to see little old me." The familiar feminine voice had an edge to it. Angel's shoulders tensed.

"Buffy." Angel turned to find her standing right where Nina had been less than an hour ago. Only Buffy didn't lean against the door jam. She stood straight and tall with her arms crossed over her chest. Strange how she could stand so tall when she was so tiny. Her hair fell to her shoulders, longer than he'd remembered it.

"Angel." Buffy responded automatically, her mouth tight.

Angel's eyes narrowed as he stared at Buffy, reading the tension in her face and stance. She looked pissed. Not enraged. More like a cold anger. Icy. Angry Buffy was never easy to deal with. The microwave dinged behind him and he pushed the cancel button to quiet it. "So what is it? Why are –"

"Where is he?" Buffy's voice cracked as she interrupted him.

Angel jutted his chin forward obstinately. "Where's who?"

"Spike." Buffy bit out the words. "Where is Spike?"

Angel shook his head, disbelieving. "You came halfway around the world to ask me where Spike is?" He raised his hands defensively, annoyed at her accusing tone. "I'm not Spike's keeper. And I couldn't tell you where he is because for one, I don't care and for two, I don't care."

"So he's alive?" She asked in a small voice, the anger leaking away.

"Yeah, as alive as any other vampire." His mouth grimaced. "Thanks for asking, by the way. I'm fine."

Buffy's eyes closed briefly before opening to glare at Angel. "You knew he was back and you didn't tell me. What? Is it your mission in life to keep me in the dark? To make decisions for me without actually giving me the right to choose? I'm not a teenager anymore. You don't get to just…just…" Buffy searched for the words frustratedly, stabbing her index finger at Angel each time she hesitated. "Ugh!"

Angel clenched his jaw. "Let me repeat myself just so we're clear. I. Am. Not. Spike's. Keeper. I don't pass notes for him during study hall. I don't send out 'Welcome Back' party invites to all his friends. I have more important things to worry about than Spike like oh say, stopping the world from ending. Oh yeah, and eradicating evil." Angel punched the air with his fists. "So sorry if my priorities inconvenienced you. Wait, no. I'm not sorry. 'Cause the only person who needed to tell you anything was Spike. Go be angry at him."

Buffy's shoulders slumped as she dropped her arms to her side. "Sorry. I just…" She rubbed her temples, exhaustion leaking into her voice. "I'm just so tired. I can't even tell who's lying to me anymore."

Angel's face softened and he walked forward to touch Buffy by the shoulder, his hand paused in midair as the front door banged open in the lobby.

"Dad! We're back!" Connor's voice carried loud and clear to the office. Buffy raised her head to look confusedly at Angel. "Dad? You here?"

Angel cleared his throat and walked past Buffy to stand in the doorway of the office. "In here, Connor."

Buffy's eyes widened. She mouthed 'dad?' and stared at Angel, waiting for him to explain. He turned to look back at her and shrugged. "It's a long story. But yeah, he's my son." Angel couldn't help but smile proudly as he responded.

Buffy shook her head dazedly, walking towards Angel with her mouth open in shock. "How is that even…"

Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of bleached blond hair and a black leather coat over Angel's shoulder as he stood in the doorway with his back to the lobby. Her already wide eyes strained even further. Her breath caught in her throat, only to force its way through shallow pants. Her hands felt numb, hanging listlessly at her side while her feet were rooted to the ground.

Angel resisted the urge to greet Connor, unable to look away from Buffy's face as she stared past him. He finally glanced behind him to see Spike handing Connor a broadsword to put in the weapons cabinet. Connor and Spike stood bantering and swapping insults until Spike quieted suddenly, his back tensing visibly beneath his jacket. He turned to stare at Angel standing in the doorway, his head tilted to the side. "Buffy?" He whispered beneath his breath as he shook his head.

"Who's Buffy? Isn't that the girl who you…oh." Connor quieted as he caught sight of the blond woman standing behind his father.

Buffy's feet moved forward sluggishly and Angel moved aside to let her pass. She barely noticed him as she walked slowly towards Spike. She hadn't thought it would be this easy to find him. She'd expected hours of dragging the truth out of Angel and then more time spent going to Spike. Her eyes moved over him from head to foot, taking in every detail of his being while avoiding his eyes. Her head bowed down to stare at his chest when she finally stood in front of him.

Was he real? She reached forward to grab his right hand, holding it between her own as she stroked his fingers with her thumbs. His hand. The last time she'd touched him it was here. She remembered the flames burning them both. She felt like the sensation was embedded underneath his cool skin, all she had to do was look for it and she'd feel it again. She held his hand up to her chest and began to intertwine their fingers, her left to his right, making a fist which she clutched to her heart.

She looked up finally to gaze into Spike's face, seeing him standing frozen and staring at her intensely, waiting to see what she'd do next. His eyes were transfixed and tinged with wonder. She'd forgotten how he could make her feel just by looking at her. Warm. Admired. Loved. Her lips started to curl into a smile only to fall as her chest tightened unbearably and she gasped out a breath. She squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head again, continuing to hold his hand against her as moisture seeped out from under her eyelids to fall down her cheeks. She felt his other hand brush against her cheek, wiping away the dampness. She shuddered at his touch.

"Buffy. Love."

She shook her head, unable to respond or let go. He stroked her cheek and her hair, brushing away the tears as they fell. Her head tilted up into his touch but her eyes remained closed. He closed his eyes to match her and leaned forward till their foreheads touched, letting out a sigh that matched her own. He breathed her in, the scent of her, the warmth of her breath, the salt of her tears. He breathed shallowly to match her own rhythm, wishing his heart beat so that it too could move in sync with her motions.

Each time a soft whimper escaped her throat, his dead heart clenched. He continued to stroke her hair, murmuring endearments and crooning to her. Her tears eventually slowed as her breathing evened out. She sighed and his body followed the rise and fall of her chest. She pushed up with her forehead and pulled back, opening her eyes to look at Spike as he raised his head to gaze back at her.

She smiled painfully. "Hi."


	8. Chapter 8

Spike stared back at Buffy, mesmerized and smiling. "Hello," he said softly, afraid to break the moment.

Buffy raised her free hand to brush away the remaining tears on her cheeks, rubbing them away with her sleeve. She laughed and rolled her eyes. "God, I must look awful. Puffy Buffy isn't what I was going for here."

Spike shook his head, never breaking eye contact. "No. You look beautiful."

Buffy's smile wavered as she bit her lip, her eyes still holding a fragile air. "Liar," she whispered.

Spike tilted his head to the side, his smile widening as he reached forward to push Buffy's hair back from her face. "I'm many things, love. But I've never felt the need to tell tales about the God-given attributes of a beautiful woman. Now take your compliment and stop acting like you don't know you're bloody gorgeous."

An involuntary laugh escaped Buffy and she quickly swallowed it, shaking her head at him. She looked down at their intertwined hands resting against her chest and slowly lowered their joined fist to hang between them. She noticed the absolute quiet of the hotel lobby and swiveled her head to discover that Angel had disappeared from the office behind them and his son – her mind figuratively blinked at the concept – his son was gone as well. She looked back at Spike, eyebrows lowered in confusion. "Where'd they go?"

"Cleared out right quick. Was the tears, I expect. Nothing scarier than a woman having a good cry." He looked down at their joined hands. "I'd have gone running, too. If I could." He grinned openly, tongue curling behind his front teeth as his cheeks dimpled.

Buffy shook her head playfully, swinging their hands back and forth as she muttered "idiot" underneath her breath.

Spike's grin widened. "You know, this is going a lot better than I'd imagined. Thought you'd be right angry with me what with telling Andrew to keep his trap shut. Figured I'd be down on the floor holding a bloody no – ow!"

Buffy's right fist connected with Spike's face, forcing him to fall back from the impact and stretching their joined hands tautly. Buffy pulled Spike back into her with her grip on his right hand, glaring at him while he clutched his nose.

He looked at her angry expression suspiciously, his voice carrying a nasal quality. "So that's it, then? We on to the kick the Spike portion of the evening?" He scoffed, dropping his hand from his face to jab his finger at Buffy. "At least you're predictable, Slayer. I'll give you that."

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What? Other than a bleedin' nose ain't nothing wrong with me. _I_ don't go around hitting people to work out my feelings." His eyes widened significantly at Buffy before his face fell into a sheepish expression. "Well, okay. I do. But it's totally different and perfectly right in a completely different context and I'll have you know that I…I…what were we talking about again?"

"How you're an idiot?" Buffy supplied eagerly.

Spike grimaced.

"How you kept the fact that you're back _from the dead_ a secret for_ over a year_?"

"Pfft. Wasn't that long. A few months shy of a year at most."

Buffy stared.

"Well okay, yeah. But…"

Buffy's raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

"I had reasons, you know. Very good reasons." He huffed. "Oh, you'd be impressed." Spike tapped his temple, nodding. "The thoughts in here. Yeah, very impressed."

Buffy stared at Spike, wordlessly expressing 'you're an idiot' with her eyes.

Spike looked off to the side and opened his mouth, working his tongue from cheek to cheek as he wrestled with his words. "Like for one, can't top an exit like that. Everybody knows you burn up in a blaze of glory savin' the world, it's a bit anticlimactic to just show up again a few months later." Spike glanced surreptitiously at Buffy, noting her increased glare of death directed at him. "Plus figured it was time to be my own man. Nothing wrong with being a bachelor. Setting out on my own." He nodded solidly, affirming the notion. "And Angel practically begged me to stay and help him. Poor sod was at a loss and needed me around." He glanced back at Buffy, seeing her clenching and unclenching her jaw. "And it's not like you left a forwarding address, pet." Buffy eyes narrowed to slits. "Not that I'm saying it's your fault. Didn't expect you to think up a contingency plan in the event of my resurrection. Though the way our world works, any idiot could see…" Buffy began to squeeze Spike's fist, causing him to cough and clear his throat. "Right. Well, those are just a few of my very well thought out reasons why I didn't…you know, tell you."

The anger melted away from Buffy's face, her expression going blank. She looked down, roughly swallowing the knot in her throat. Her grip loosened, letting Spike's hand drop from her grasp.

Spike's body reeled back from the loss of contact, his eyes bereft as he looked at her avoiding his gaze. He looked down to stare at the same spot on the floor that had absorbed Buffy's attention, opening his mouth to speak and closing it repeatedly before finally working up the nerve to continue. "'Course I forgot to mention the most important reason." Buffy's gaze sharpened, listening carefully as she stared at the floor. "Didn't think you meant it." Spike watched Buffy's eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. "There. At the end. When you said you…"

Buffy slowly raised her head to stare at Spike solemnly. "You're an idiot, Spike," she said softly. "Why do I always fall for the stupid ones?"

Spike half-laughed through his wavering smile. "Couldn't tell you, love. Doesn't make a lick of sense. Not worthy to even look at you much less – "

Buffy grabbed his shirt and pulled him close till they were face to face. "Shut up."

"Right. No more talking."

Buffy nodded. "Good."

"Brilliant." Spike tilted his head to the side, gazing intensely into Buffy's eyes as his face inched closer towards her.

"Uh huh." Buffy stopped as her lips gently brushed his, breathing into his slightly open mouth.

"Hmm." Spike waited, watching her, afraid to move and break whatever spell held them this close.

Buffy kissed his lower lip softly before pulling back to move to the right side of his mouth. She pressed a dry kiss on the corner of his lips, holding for a moment then brushing her lips against his and moving to the opposite corner to repeat the caress. She reached up to touch his lips with her right index finger, testing the softness and resiliency as she pressed down gently in the center before brushing his lower lip with her thumb, pressing her soft kiss deeper into his lips rather than wiping it away. She looked at Spike, eyes serious and warm and slightly uncertain. "Can I kiss you?"

Spike's eyes narrowed questioningly. "Thought that was what you were doing, love."

"I thought I should ask," Buffy said softly.

"Stupid question, pet. Always want to be kissing you. And for the record, seeing as you're being all proper-like, it's 'may I kiss you'."

Buffy rolled her eyes and pulled him down to her with a firm grip on his neck, kissing him firmly. Her hands looped around the back of his neck as she pulled herself up into his embrace, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, feeling the entire length of him with her body. Her body sighed into his, relaxing for a moment only to tense immediately and pull him even closer to her while she rose up on her toes to meet him head-on. _Yes_, she thought. _This. This is what's been missing. _Her stomach tightened unbearably only to unfurl and jump inside her, making her insides quiver.

Spike tilted his head, deepening the kiss while opening his mouth to duel with Buffy's tongue. She pulled back slightly and took his lip between her teeth, nipping gently before kissing away the sting. He groaned, his throaty rumble intensifying while his hands roamed her back. His right hand began to play with the hem of her shirt, sneaking up to stroke the skin of her lower back before slowly moving forward to the soft skin of her abdomen. With each renewed note of their battling tongues, his hand inched upward only to be forcibly stopped by Buffy's grip as she pulled back gasping. She looked around at the hotel lobby and shook her head.

Spike looked around and shrugged 'why not'. Buffy pushed his hand out from under her shirt, frowning.

"Not here, Spike," she panted. She looked up at the ceiling, wondering where Angel had disappeared to. "Most definitely _not_ here."

Spike dropped his forehead against Buffy's, groaning. "Woman, why do you insist on tormenting me?"

Buffy grinned, breathing heavily. "Oh come on, you can take it. Tough guy like you. You're probably just faking so I'll feel sorry for you."

Spike grabbed Buffy by the hips and pulled her into him, his eyes zeroing in on hers as he raised his eyebrow. "Who's faking?"

Buffy swallowed, eyes closed. "Okay, not faking. But still kinda milking it for all it's worth."

Spike groaned again. "If you're not gonna use your tongue properly, stop with the double entendres, pet. _Please_."

"Double who?" Buffy asked as she pushed away from Spike.

Spike shook off her question. "Nevermind. So where to? I don't have a place here anymore. A hotel?" He looked around at the lobby. "_Another_ hotel?"

"Well, that just sounds skanky." Buffy pouted.

"You do have a hotel here, right?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I want to have dirty-hotel-reunion-_sex_." She looked up at the ceiling as she whispered the last word.

"Pet, there's nowhere else to go."

Buffy's lip jutted out even further.

"And that." Spike pointed at her lip. "That's _not_ helping. Love, you want me to go get a room somewhere? I've got the blunt. Just say the word."

"No." She sighed heavily. "We'll go to mine." She pouted again and Spike leaned in towards her lips, forcing her to jump back. "Hey! No touching. Not here. This is a no-touching zone." She waved her arms around herself. "No kissing. No hugging. No caressing of…things. Got it?"

Spike held his hands in the air. "Got it. Can we go now?"

Buffy nodded. "Oh yeah. Right now."

_Buffy's Hotel_

_Thirty Minutes Later_

Buffy and Spike stood at opposite ends of the elevator, watching the lights blink as they went up to the 16th floor. As each floor passed, Buffy let out a little sigh. The air hummed between them. They'd stopped speaking on the ride over to Buffy's hotel. Buffy'd had trouble not accidentally making with the sexy talk and after the third time Spike nearly drove off the road, she'd decided silence was golden.

The light dinged at 16 and the doors opened. Buffy turned to meet Spike's gaze and they stepped out into the hallway, never breaking eye contact. They stood outside the elevator, frozen for several long minutes as they looked at each other. Finally remembering herself, Buffy jolted back into motion and started walking towards her room at the end of the hall, Spike following close behind. She paused at the door and started digging into her pocket for the key, raising it to the electronic lock. Spike's hand caressed her back and she fumbled her grip, dropping the card to the floor. She bent down the pick it up, her hand unsteady as she tried to insert the key into the slot. Cursing, she tried again when the lock didn't light up.

"Any time now, love," Spike rumbled from behind her.

Buffy scowled at him over her shoulder, turning to make another attempt at unlocking the door. The lock lit up and Buffy turned to grin triumphantly at Spike, only to find him already in motion. He picked her up and spun them both across the threshold, shouldering the door closed. Never one to be left behind, Buffy took advantage of her new position and angled herself down to meet his mouth in the darkness of the room. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and her thighs gripped his hips as Spike slowly worked his way towards the bed, turning at the foot of the bed to fall back on the mattress.

"Oomph," Buffy grunted and sat up to smile, resting her hands on his shoulders as she looked down at Spike's returning grin.

His smile melting away, his eyes locked with hers in the faint moonlight shining in from the window. Buffy's hands relaxed their grip to splay wide on his shoulders and slide down to his chest in a massaging pressure while Spike's hands simultaneously gripped the hem of her shirt and started pulling upward. Buffy's hands fell on top of his, helping him pull her shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor behind her without a glance. She shook her head, letting her blond hair fall forward over her shoulders while she grinned down at him.

"Your turn," she murmured throatily as she reached for the bottom of his shirt.

Spike stilled her hands, pressing them against his sides. He traced his right index finger from her belly button to the middle of her chest, his eyes following the motion until he stopped to lay his hand flat right above Buffy's left breast. His eyes unfocused as he listened to her heart and felt the vibrations of its beat beneath his palm.

Buffy looked at him in confusion before covering his hand with her own. "What?" she asked softly.

"Just makin' sure." His eyes raised to look into hers. "You're really here."

She smiled. "I'm here." Slowly leaning down without dislodging their hands, she kissed him. "I'm really, really here."


	9. Chapter 9

Spike watched Buffy sleep, his palm cupping her naked shoulder before stroking down her arm with a featherlight touch. He traced the curved line of her spine as she lay sprawled next to him on the bed, her back curled into his chest. His hand would pause when she'd murmur faintly in response to his touch and he'd smile when he recognized her satisfied tone.

She'd fallen into a deep sleep, exhausted after hours of them _connecting_. No other word for it. They'd fucked each other blind plenty of times before tonight. They'd chastely lain down together speaking volumes without words. They'd never done both at the same time. He hadn't known they could. Hadn't known anyone could.

Vampires could go a long time without sleep and still function. It just took the right kind of incentive to keep one awake during the daylight hours. And incentive for the past dozen hours or so was most definitely not in short supply. Even after Buffy had fallen asleep, Spike couldn't stand the thought of succumbing to his fatigue and somehow missing this. Not appreciating the feeling, the fullness inside.

Buffy sighed and turned back towards Spike, bumping her head into his chin before nuzzling into his shoulder. Spike laid his left hand on her hip, stroking upwards till he reached the silky skin of her neck and behind her ear. Tracing forwards with his index finger, he ran his finger across her cheekbone and down to her lips, lightly touching the planes of her face as if he was blind and attempting to memorize her.

He noted the softness of her cheeks and the even finer softness of the skin beneath her eyes, gentling his touch as he traced the silken skin on the tops of her eyelids. He pushed a fallen lock of blonde hair away from her face and held it between his fingers, weighing its texture and length as he eyed the shiny blond color.

"You jealous?" Buffy murmured with her eyes closed.

"Hmm?" Spike grunted before looking down at Buffy's smiling face. "What's that, pet?"

"You jealous I've got a better dye job?" Buffy opened her eyes to grin at him, reaching up to play with his mussed bedhead curls. "I could give you the name of my stylist." She giggled. "We could go in together. Be annoyingly cute and couple-y." She reached for his hand, turning to lie on her back and hold it close to her face as she examined his bare fingernails. "We could even get your nails done. Black." She nipped playfully at his fingers, looking at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Spike grinned. "Think I'll pass on the day at the spa. Now if you wanted me to help you go lingerie shopping, I'd be all for getting annoyingly couple-y in public. Probably shock a few prudes but they just might learn a thing or two." He pulled back his hand to rest over his heart. "'m all about the greater good now or haven't you heard?"

"I think I remember reading that somewhere." Buffy's smile faded into a happy sigh as she closed her eyes again. "This is nice. I don't wanna move. Can we just stay here, not moving, just like this…"

"No reason not to, love." A knock sounded on the door. "Hold that thought." Spike sat up and reached down for his pair of jeans at the foot of the bed.

Buffy touched his shoulder. "Wait, let me jump in the shower first." She tossed the covers back and walked nude to the adjoining bathroom, winking over her shoulder at Spike as he stared. Another knock on the door had Buffy peeking her head out of the bathroom with her eyebrows raised. "You gonna get that?"

Spike shook himself, standing and pulling his jeans up without buttoning them. "Yeah, got it." The sound of water falling prompted Spike to hurry towards the door with an annoyed scowl on his face.

His face fell into one of surprise as he found Connor waiting for him in the hallway. He looked at Connor suspiciously. "How'd you find us?" He leaned in slightly to stare at Connor more closely. "You tracked us here from the hotel? Knew you were good at it, but that's a tad freaky. We drove over here, took the interstate. Even bloodhounds can't follow a scent once it gets a fast ride."

Connor reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, raising his eyebrow. "It's called a phone. Found out what hotel your friend was staying at. Say it with me now – technology is your friend."

Spike crossed his arms over his chest. "Right, so why are you here? Notice how I keep having to ask you that. It's 'cause you keep showing up when I'm otherwise involved. Got things I'd rather be doing to a girl I'd rather be doing. Catch my drift?"

Connor grimaced. "Unfortunately, I can smell your drift, too. I'm not here to interrupt your…whatever. Not my business. Dad sent me."

"Oh ho! So Angel sent the heir apparent to break up the party. Well you can toddle on home and tell the broodmaster to sod off."

"Hey, I'm not here for the whole jealous, competitive vampire show. This is business. Dad needs you and Buffy. Some kind of new development with the demonic cults Nina and Kate were looking into."

"What's that got to do with Buffy?"

Connor shook his head. "Dunno. Dad called and told me to come get you guys on the way back to the hotel. I missed the action, too. Still playing catch-up here but the faster you get dressed –" Connor looked pointedly at Spike's bare chest " – the faster I get to have fun making evil things go crunch." Connor glanced down at his wristwatch. "You coming?"

Spike shrugged, turning to face the bathroom door with an amused smirk. He raised his voice to ask: "Honey, wanna go kill things?"

"Sure! I just need to get dressed and do my hair." The cheerfulness in Buffy's voice carried over the sound of the water falling in the shower.

Spike squinted, reassessing his plans as he looked back at Connor. "Maybe you should meet us there. Don't imagine she's gonna be ready anytime soon. The hair alone…"

Connor raised both eyebrows, backing away. "Yeah, meet you there." Connor turned to leave and paused, looking back at Spike over his shoulder. "You might wanna…" He nodded his head towards the shower.

"What?"

Connor tapped his nose.

Spike chuckled evilly. "Ha, talk about rubbing Daddy Dearest's face in it. Serve him right. Not like he didn't do that to me a million times – er, I mean your dad's a real stand-up guy, Junior. Got a lot of great qualities like…like…" Spike's tongue flapped in his mouth as he searched for words. "…excellent penmanship. And a not completely hopeless taste in literature. Not a bad hand at drawing though he certainly is pompous about it." Spike raised his hands placatingly. "Not that he's pompous all the time. Only most of the time. There's some quality non-pomp somewhere in there. Never been around to see it myself, but so I've heard."

Connor smiled mockingly. "Thanks. I get it. Dad is good, therefore I'm good. My self-esteem is now secure." He started walking down the hall, looking over his shoulder to retort, "And seriously. Take a shower." He shook his head, mumbling to himself "Stupid enhanced sense of smell – _worst_ superpower ever."

Spike watched Connor disappear around the corner before closing the door and turning towards the bathroom, listening to the noises from the shower. He shrugged, shucking off his pants and reaching for the bathroom door. "Can't blame me if we're late now, can he? Just following his advice. One shower – coming up."

_Hyperion Hotel_

Buffy jumped onto the landing of the hotel doorway and turned to grin at Spike. "Beat you!"

Spike reached past her to pull open the door and slide inside first. "Nope. Doesn't count till you're inside. Cheaters never prosper, Slayer."

Buffy scoffed as she walked inside after him. "You should know, Mr. I-cheat-at-kitten-poker. And nobody said it was whoever got inside first. That's winning by technicality or cheating or something." She waved her finger at him. "You _so_ did not win. I want a rematch." She fisted her hands into her hips. "No, I _demand_ a rematch. I have my Slayer honor to uphold. Plus I'm like undefeated in the 'me versus you' category. It'd be like a sign of the apocalypse – you beating me. Can't let it happen, Spike. It's my job to save the world. Face it, you're going down and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Never had a problem with you winning, love, and you know I don't have a problem with going down." He grinned. "But you lost. Gotta learn to accept it and move on." Spike patted her on the shoulder.

Angel cleared his throat and the pair turned to notice the group of people dispersed throughout the lobby. He glowered. "You done?"

Buffy raised a hand to wave as she stepped down towards everyone. "Hey. So what's the what?" She noticed a girl with brown hair tied to a chair next to the large red circular couch where a redheaded girl was lying unconscious on the cushions. "Okay wild guess here but you didn't call us over to show us the dangers of forgetting the safe word during bondage fun?"

The brown-haired girl moaned, her head lolling forward. A blonde woman with blue eyes and a no-nonsense attitude walked up and smacked her on the shoulder. "Wake up, sunshine. You're going to answer my questions. Doesn't matter how long it takes. You hear me?"

Buffy looked confusedly at Spike who was staring at the girl tied up in the chair. She turned towards Angel with eyebrows raised. "What's going on? And who are all these people?"

Angel stared at Spike for a few moments before nodding towards the blond attempting to start an interrogation. "This is Kate. She's an ex-cop and a friend." His head jerked towards Connor who was sitting on the desk counter. "You've met Connor already. Sort of." Angel gestured towards another blond woman who sat down on the couch and started sponging a wet towel on the unconscious girl's forehead. "And this is Nina. As for the rest, we're working on it."

Buffy squinted. "Working on it?"

Nina looked up to answer. "Kate and I were following a lead. Some weird goings-on downtown. Rumors about a cult and something to do with vampires. We figured out there was a pattern to where the incidents were happening. Staked it out and –"

"Walked into a trap." Kate interrupted. "Except the trap wasn't set for us. It was for her." She nodded at the unconscious redhead. She turned back to the brunette. "And this one is responsible for the set-up. She's just not feeling very talkative right now." Kate gripped the girl's chin and lifted her head up. "You _really_ don't want to try my patience. Now I'll ask one more time – what's your name?"

The girl looked blearily up at Kate and sneered.

"Her name's Christy." Spike stepped forward to stand in front of the brunette who looked at him in surprise. "And last time I checked, the only sort of trouble she was looking for was a good time. Things change, huh pet?"

Christy blinked in surprise. "Spike? You know these people?" She started to fight her restraints. "Tell them to let me go. They're crazy. They attacked me and tied me up for no reason." She looked worriedly at the redhead lying on the couch who was moaning softly and starting to stir. "And keep that one away from me. She's dangerous, Spike. She's a killer."

Buffy held her hands up in there. "Okay – time out! The more people keep talking, the more confusing it gets in here." She looked directly at Kate. "What'd you mean that you walked into a trap?"

Kate nodded at the redhead who Nina was helping to sit up. "I mean that Christy here pretended like she was being attacked by a gang of vampires in order to lure her – " Kate pointed at the redhead – "into a fight to help save her. But Christy didn't need saving. Apparently she's best buddies with the vampires that were 'attacking' her. It was all a show so they could shoot half a dozen tranq darts into…"

"Rachel," the redhead supplied in a rough voice. She looked around the room woozily. "Where am I?"

"It's okay," Nina reassured. "We're friends."

Rachel looked around the room, her shoulders stiffening as she glared at Spike and Angel. "Friends? I don't make friends with vampires." She reached behind her, looking for something in her back pocket only to start searching around the room with desperate eyes.

Connor hopped off the counter to stand slightly in front of Angel. "You don't like vampires. I get that. But these two are okay. So stop looking for the stake you dropped and sit back. 'Cause even if you tried, we'd take you down."

Buffy looked at Rachel in understanding. "You're a Slayer."

Angel nodded. "She's a Slayer, Buffy. Who's apparently the new hot commodity in the demon world. Whoever Christy's been working with has been staging these traps all over the city. The vampires weren't going for the kill and Christy wasn't the only human helping them. Almost half a dozen men armed with tranq guns. Kate fired a few warning shots into the air while I grabbed Rachel. They ran. It's probably the first time things didn't go according to plan."

"They all got away," Kate added. "Except this one. I introduced her to my right hook. And if she doesn't start talking about her friends, I think they might need to get more reacquainted." Kate flexed her fist.

"You don't understand. That thing is a killer." Christy spat in Rachel's direction. "Spike, don't turn your back on her. She's an animal. She goes out at night hunting vampires. She's a murderer. A monster."

Buffy blinked. "Okay, I'm still not used to the whole part where the world acts insane-o." Buffy walked over to Christy. "Vampires are bad. Evil. They kill people. Drink their blood. You get that that's bad, right? The whole dying part?"

Christy shook her head, her eyes wild. "That's just lies. Lies the Slayers have been spreading for generations. They're misunderstood. Vampires have been persecuted and forced into hiding for so long. The Slayers are trying to kill off their entire race. If you actually knew what they were like –

"Oh, I know what they're like. I've watched vampires kill. Over and over again." Buffy rolled her eyes. "You really don't get it, do you? All vampires are into is the kill, the hunt. They want you dead and the sooner the better."

"Right. That's why you're hanging out with Spike? Buffy, was it?" Christy laughed and looked at Spike. "This her? Your penpal?" She looked back at Buffy mockingly. "Yeah, I can see how all vampires are _so_ bad. So what's your plan? You gonna snuggle him to death?"

Buffy clenched her jaw. "Spike's different. He has a soul. So does Angel. Every other vampire out there, better off dust. Slayers are the only ones protecting you. Slayers are good."

"The only good Slayer is a dead Slayer," Christy sneered.

Spike walked forward and swiftly untied Christy, waving away Buffy's protest. Christy looked up at him gratefully before smirking at Buffy. She didn't notice his hand swoop down to grab her by the neck and she gasped in surprise as he lifted her up and tossed her against the lobby's counter. Tightening his stranglehold, he looked into Christy's terrified eyes and bared his teeth. "You're gonna talk, pet. Tell us everything you know about your friends. Who, what, where – everything." His hand tightened on her neck reflexively as Christy tried to swallow. "Won't stand for any lip. Say one word out of turn against Slayers, you'll regret it. Understand?"

Christy nodded.

"Right then." Spike stepped back, letting Christy fall down to the floor. From the top."


	10. Chapter 10

Buffy reached to pull the stake out of her back pocket, gripping it tightly as she looked at the front door of the abandoned building. The sign hanging above the door read "CARNAGE", the letters drawn in a style that made the red script look like dripping blood. A condemned notice hung on the boarded up door of the main entrance.

She scowled. "Always with the condemned buildings. Vamps never wanna hang at the local Starbucks."

Glancing behind her, she noted Angel and Kate bringing up the rear. Buffy, Connor and Spike had jumped out of the backseat of Angel's moving car as soon as they'd driven by the address of the club Christy had revealed. Nina had offered to stay behind and keep an eye on their prisoner. No wait, not prisoner. Hostage. Er, not that either. Guest. Christy was their guest. Buffy didn't keep humans hostage. She just sometimes babysat them against their will.

"So. What's the plan?" Spike broke the silence.

Buffy eyes narrowed. "We go in. Covert. Do a little recon. See how – "

Angel raised his hand, interrupting. "Hold on. Something we need to work out first." Buffy looked at Angel with eyebrows raised. "Everyone follow my lead. Don't just go running off like you three – " he looked pointedly at Buffy, Spike and Connor "– did just a minute ago. We need to work together on this and no offense, Buffy, but you don't know all the players here."

Spike and Buffy rolled their eyes simultaneously at Angel while Connor turned his head away to smirk.

Buffy gestured placatingly at Angel. "Okay. You're in charge. What do we do, oh great leader?"

Angel nodded. "We go in covertly. Do some recon and see how many we're dealing with."

Buffy smiled wryly. "Great plan."

Spike snickered, making Angel glare at him before continuing. "Spike and I go in. Get a read on what we're dealing with."

"Okay, you had me up to the point where I'm not going in," Buffy interjected. "There could be Slayers in there. I have to – "

"What? Endanger them?" Angel interrupted. "Tip off the vampires that another Slayer's inside? They're hardwired to sense you. You wanna help those girls? You'll wait out here for us till we know the score. This is a vampire cult we're dealing with. Don't you think the two vampires have a better chance of blending in?"

"Hate to admit it, but he's got a point," Spike added reluctantly.

Buffy raised her hands defensively. "Okay, we'll do this your way." _For now,_ she added silently.

Angel and Spike glanced at each other briefly before walking around the corner of the club to look for another way in. Buffy sighed and turned to stare at Kate and Connor, twirling her stake between her fingers agitatedly.

"Cool trick," Connor complimented as he watched the stake spinning in her grasp.

Buffy shrugged. "You do this as long as I have, you pick up a thing or two."

Connor grinned. "I caught an axe being thrown right at me this one time." He raised his hands to imitate grabbing the axe out of the air. "It was pretty cool."

Buffy nodded with lips pursed, impressed.

"I once arrested a guy for urinating on a poodle. Aren't battle stories fun?" Kate added sarcastically, arms crossed over her chest.

Buffy and Connor looked at each other, eyes wide with a trying-not-to-laugh expression on their faces like two kids caught passing notes during class by the teacher.

Kate shrugged. "I once shot a perp at over 100 yards away. The force tried to send me in for sharpshooter training, but I wanted to be a detective." She scoffed. "And look how well that turned out."

"You still make a difference. You know that. It's not the same, but…" Connor's voice trailed off uncertainly.

Kate nodded, smiling slightly. "Yeah, I know. Taking it one day at a time, kid."

Buffy exhaled loudly. "God, what is taking so long?" She crossed her arms and started drumming her fingers on her biceps before dropping her hands to her sides. "Screw this, I'm going in."

She strode towards the corner only to stop short as Spike and Angel appeared. She smiled awkwardly. "Oh hey, I wasn't…" She looked at Angel and Spike, wide-eyed. "So what'd you find out?"

Spike looked at her suspiciously before answering. "Right. Place is packed. Looks dead on the outside and even deader inside. The undead variety, that is. Counted at least fifty vamps, maybe more."

"More than fifty. I counted sixty-seven on my first sweep," Angel added grimly. "And that's not including the dozens of humans."

Buffy's face fell at the news and she looked down at her stake in disappointment. "Stupid airline regulations not letting me bring my Scythe," she grumbled.

"You mean that axe thingy you had back in Sunnydale?" Angel asked.

"It's called a Scythe," Buffy corrected knowingly.

Angel shook his head. "It's an axe. Scythes have more a –

"S'not the point," Spike said quickly. "We're seriously outnumbered here and lacking a bluish Old One to even up the odds."

"Huh?" Buffy looked confusedly at Spike.

Spike shook his head. "Also not the point." He raised one finger to count off, "Outnumbered. Any ideas? C'mon people. Anyone?"

"We have to get them separated. We can't go in and hurt innocent people." Buffy hesitated. "Okay, not so innocent. More like misguided. But still, we go in full force and people get hurt. Maybe killed. And I don't have a super-powerful witch here to heal them all."

"Huh?" Kate and Connor added.

Angel spoke over them. "And if we go in with anything less than full force, we're all dead."

"Some of us already are. Wouldn't change much," Spike snarked.

Buffy shook her head, eyes wide. "I don't see how we even the odds. Maybe we wait til daytime and – "

"So I get to be flambé'd to a dusty finish for the fight?" Spike shook his head as Angel nodded in agreement. "Keep thinkin', love. 'Cause I'm voting that _not_ be Plan A."

Buffy turned to scowl at Spike. "Well maybe if you'd offer some ideas here, we'd actually get somewhere. Maybe you – "

"Should've called for back-up?" A deep voice broke them apart. Buffy whipped around to look in surprise at the tall black man grinning at them.

"Gunn," Angel greeted him with a relieved smile. "How'd you know?"

"Got a call," Gunn answered, looking at Kate who smiled in return. "Heard you might need some more fighters." He nodded over his shoulder at the group of young men and women behind him. "Went back to the basics – old school crew. It's right up their alley, though. Armed and ready to bring on the dust."

Gunn nodded at everyone, pausing to look awkwardly at Connor before nodding a greeting. Connor nodded back, shrugging his shoulder slightly in response to Gunn's questioning look.

"Came to the right place then, Charlie boy," Spike grinned. "Got so many vamps cramped inside it's practically a fire hazard."

Angel looked thoughtful for a moment before turning to gaze at Gunn's rigged up truck. "What are you packing? The usual?"

"All my favorites. Why?" Gunn asked only for his eyes to widen a second later. "Ooooh. Yeah, I got it. We looking to light up this joint?"

"Looks like. Get ready to use it," Angel ordered. He turned to look at the door of the club. "We still need to separate them somehow…"

"I know how," Buffy said quietly. She looked up at Angel and Spike, eyes hard. "Get everyone ready out here." She turned to stare grimly at the boarded up door. "I'm gonna make them come running right to you."

As she started to walk forward, Spike grabbed her by the shoulder and whipped her around to face him. "What? You think you're going in alone? Scratch that plan, too. I'm not letting you go all kamikaze here." He grabbed her by both shoulders, shaking her as he spoke. "Not gonna happen, you hear me?"

Everyone watched silently, their eyes going back and forth between Buffy and Spike.

"Spike," she said quietly, reaching up to gently lift his hands off her shoulders. "Trust me. And be waiting out here for me." Spike shook his head firmly, prompting Buffy to continue in earnest. "I've done this before. Well, not exactly. Kinda backwards actually. But I can do this." She looked over her shoulder at the door and then turned back to Spike. "They want Slayers. So I'm the bait."

She lowered her voice to a whisper, looking at him intensely. "I _have_ to do this."

She stepped away from Spike and looked at the others briefly. She gazed at Angel for a moment before glancing at Connor, Kate and Gunn. "Be ready." She turned back to look at Spike. "Be right back, promise," she reassured, smiling slightly.

She straightened her shoulders and slid her stake into her back pocket, walking proudly around the corner and out of sight. The alley on the side of the club was dirtier than she was used to and she stepped over broken bottles and trash before pausing to look up at a large, open window two stories above her. Okay, that's how Angel and Spike snuck in. Too bad she didn't have those nifty vampire jump-like-she's-flying skills.

Looking further down the alley, she noticed a smaller vent window above a dumpster against the brick wall. Walking toward it, she tilted her head and hopped up onto the dumpster. Looking inside, she noticed an empty restroom with several vanity mirrors and the walls spray-painted black and covered in red graffiti. She lifted the window open and turned her head, gritting her teeth as she squeezed through the opening. After squeezing her head through, she slide easily down face first along the wall into a tuck and roll onto the floor.

Standing up, she brushed off her shirt and pants, looking back at the small window then down at her body. Measuring her hips with her hands and then raising them up to the window, she pursed her lips.

_Okay, was there a size tinier than petite?_ she wondered. Shrugging, she turned to look at herself in the mirror just as two girls opened the bathroom door. Buffy froze. The girls stumbled forward, giggling drunkenly as they primped in front of the mirror, adjusting the cleavage showing in their tight halter tops.

The girl to Buffy's right turned to look scornfully at Buffy's jeans and conservative top. She leaned over, head tilted sympathetically. "You're new, huh? Try something red or black next time. The vamps just love it. Especially red. It makes them get all _hot_." She patted her neck, drawing Buffy's attention to a bite mark.

Buffy smiled nervously. "Right, red. Gotcha." Buffy raised her right hand to do a mini-cheer gesture. "Go vampires! They're just the coolest."

Both girls laughed, looking at Buffy oddly before stumbling out of the bathroom. The loud beat of music reverberated off the bathroom walls before the door swung shut. Buffy patted the stake in the back pocket of her jeans reassuringly before opening the bathroom door and looking out into the empty hallway.

She followed the beat of the music down the darkened hallway, glancing at the graffiti on the walls, reading random words and phrases like "Vampirez Rule" and "Blood is the life". Her left eye started to twitch, her jaw clenching involuntarily. She stopped reading.

Reaching the dance floor, she blinked at the strobe lights crisscrossing over the crowd undulating to the heavy metal techno beat. She stumbled slightly as she walked forward, the lower reaches of her back burning. She'd never had an acute sense for when vampires were nearby, but when this many were surrounding her even she couldn't remain oblivious. Her fists clenched involuntarily and she had to stop herself from reaching for her stake.

By appearance alone it looked like any other club scene. The men and women were drunkenly gyrating on each, occasionally stopping to kiss and cop a feel. Except this crowd had added their own specialty to the clubbing menu. Every minute or so Buffy would spy a vampire in game face leaning in to bite their partner's neck, drinking briefly before pulling away to resume dancing, leaving their 'victims' moaning in bliss. Buffy closed her eyes in disgust as her stomach turned.

She felt physically sick, overwhelmed and dizzy. A couple bumped into her, forcing her eyes open. She panted and shook her head, attempting to clear the fog. The music began to quietly wind down and she noticed a tall man dressed in a black showman's jacket and heavy eyeliner stand up on the empty stage used for live band performances. He raised his right hand and the crowd quieted, turning to watch him. A microphone lowered from the ceiling and landed perfectly in his grasp. The man grinned, flashing a smile full of brilliant white teeth against his pale skin.

He was handsome. Buffy hated that she thought he was handsome. He had that pretty boy hair that was fluffed back into place with loads of gel, but still managed to look windblown. Not that the hair was why she hated him. Well, that was part of it. It was the look in his eyes as he gazed out on the crowd. He got off on this. The humans crawling in, desperate to be food and playthings. Willing meat for the beast.

The man pulled the microphone to his lips and rumbled seductively, verging on purring. "It's about that time. I know you've all been waiting for it. Time for the blood. The blood…" He grinned, rubbing his chest suggestively as he leaned towards the crowd. "…of the Slayer!"

Buffy grimaced as the crowd began to scream and whistle catcalls. He sounded like Ryan Seacrest. A less ambiguously bisexual, vampiric Ryan Seacrest. He raised both hands, pointing towards the ceiling like he was taking a victory lap and the crowd pushed closer and closer towards the stage, leaving Buffy to stand alone on the far edges of the dance floor.

She looked behind her and noted the main hallway that led to the front of the building. She imagined Spike waiting for her on the other side of that boarded-up door. It'd be so easy to slowly back away from the crowd and join them there. A united front.

She looked around at the crowd, at the excited faces waiting for a Slayer – no, just a girl – to be brought on stage and drained. These people had chosen to be here. They'd chosen to be victims to soulless monsters. They'd chosen to watch a girl die. For fun. They wanted this. They got off on it just as much as the vampires did.

Watching them now as they begged to be bitten, as they fawned over the misshapen creatures that fed from them, she felt like she wasn't surrounded by humanity anymore. She watched them offering their necks and then kissing the blood-covered mouths of the monsters that fed from them. Her stomach turned violently.

She was supposed to save this? This rabble? She backed away, stumbling until she hit a pillar behind her. She could hear the crowd chanting the name "Draco Draco Draco" and assumed that was the announcer on the stage. She closed her eyes, sliding down against the pillar till she hit the floor, bending to rest her forehead on her knees.

She was supposed to save them and all she wanted to do was scream at them that they were cruel idiots. These weren't victims. They weren't helpless, salt-of-the-earth people being attacked in a darkened alley. These people were screaming for a girl's blood to be spilled.

She was the Slayer. She didn't judge humanity, she saved it without question. But every time before, she's always believed humanity was worth saving. Here, now, she couldn't. She felt revolted. There was no humanity inside this club of death. She squeezed her eyes shut. Bereft.


	11. Chapter 11

A gentle hand touched her shoulder and she looked up to find a girl with long brown hair and clear blue eyes looking at her with concern. Buffy blinked dazedly.

"Are you okay?" the girl asked. Buffy shook her head in response.

The girl pointed at Buffy to stay put and walked towards the bar, slipping behind it only to return a second later carrying a clear plastic cup. "Here – drink this," she said, handing the cup to Buffy.

Buffy looked at the clear liquid skeptically. The girl smiled. "It's only water. You looked like you were going to be sick." The girl rubbed Buffy's shoulder comfortingly. "You gotta stay hydrated when you go out to places like this." She frowned when Buffy continued to hesitate. "Did somebody slip you something earlier? Is that why you're not feeling okay?"

A chorus of shrieks made the girl turn towards the stage for a moment, only to look immediately back at Buffy, frowning. "Maybe you should go home. You don't seem like you belong here, ya know?" The girl smiled reassuringly, rubbing Buffy's shoulder and lifting the cup up to Buffy's mouth. "Drink – it'll make you feel better. Help settle your stomach."

Buffy swallowed a few sips of water hesitantly then gulped down the rest. She sighed as she leaned her head up against the pillar behind her.

The girl smiled. "Feeling better?" She stood up and held out a hand to help Buffy stand, gripping firmly and pulling her upright. "You should go home. You don't want to see what happens here." The girl looked solemn for a moment before turning to walk back behind the bar, prompting Buffy to reach out to touch her shoulder.

Buffy swallowed tightly, shaking off her lightheadedness. "Thank you," she uttered hoarsely.

"No problem." The girl smiled before walking back towards the bar at the far wall.

Buffy watched the girl walk away, a vulnerable expression on her face. She turned towards the stage and straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin and walking determinedly back towards the edge of the shrieking crowd. Announcer guy was still drawing out the moment, talking about blood and rewards. Figures. Ryan Seacrest always did know how to bleed a moment dry for all it was worth before getting to the main event. She half expected him to say they'd be right back after this commercial by Ford.

"You know the drill, how we play the game. Only one gets to drink. Oh yeah, drink deep from this sacred chalice. It's not a _right_." Draco's voice rumbled menacingly, lingering on each vowel sound and drawing it out like a Baptist preacher gone metal-punk. "Oh no, it's a _privilege_. You've gotta earn it, kids. So who earned it tonight? Who's the one –" a drumroll began to sound as Draco pointed his right index finger into the air "– who gets a taste of the finest blood this side of hell. Who'll taste the blood…" Draco paused dramatically before swinging his arm down to point to his right offstage. "…of a _Slayer!_"

A teenage girl dressed in ragged clothes with long, knotted black hair was dragged on to the stage. She stumbled as the vampires pulled her forward, tripping over the heavy chains on her ankles as they grabbed her from under her chained arms. She closed her eyes against the blinding spotlight shining down on her, panting. Her head hung limply, swaying from side to side as they propped her up next to Draco.

A dozen vampires began to flank the stage in a perfectly coordinated oval like attendants at a wedding ceremony, six to Draco's left and six to the chained Slayer's right. Draco grinned and grabbed the Slayer by her left elbow, pulling her up against his side as he raised the microphone to his lips. "Who will it be? Who'll get to taste – " He chuckled evilly and leaned over to lick the Slayer's bruised cheek. "– this prime, oh so fine morsel?" He rumbled a growl into the microphone and the crowd swayed in anticipation.

Buffy glared. She looked desperately behind her at the hallway leading to the front door and then back at the crowd of humans draped over vampires in gameface and finally at the dozen vampires on stage surrounding Draco and the Slayer. She had to end this. She dismissed the stake in her back pocket. It wasn't going to be enough for this type of crowd control. She frantically searched around the room and glanced over at the girl standing alone behind the bar. Yes. There.

She strode quickly forward and leaped over the bar, grabbing bottles of liquor and lining them up on the counter.

"Hey!" the girl exclaimed, reaching to grab Buffy's arm. "You can't just…" Her voice trailed off as Buffy turned to glare at her.

Buffy continued to line up full bottles of vodka, gin and whiskey on the bartop. Without pausing, she spoke in a dark tone, "Get out of here. Get out _now_. You hear me? You _don't_ want to be here for this."

The girl shook her head and backed away, running to the back area of the club reserved for employees. Buffy didn't turn to watch, instead picking up a lighter and slipping it into her pocket before jumping onto the bar to face the stage twenty feet away. She took a deep breath and picked up a bottle from the dozens sitting at her feet, listening to Draco's obnoxious growl as he waited to announce the winner.

_Winner_, she sneered. _Win this, suckheads_.

"…and the winner is…" Draco paused again to grin. "…the vicious, the insatiable, the unstoppable – argh!" Draco yelped as a bottle of vodka cracked him upside the head, shattering and splashing alcohol on the vampires standing next to him.

The Slayer standing next to him whimpered as the glass flew past her head to the floor, desperately pushing herself out of Draco's grasp to land sprawled at the back of the stage. The vampires on stage turned to see where the bottle came from but failed to react before more bottles were hurled with perfect precision at each vampire from Buffy's stance on the bar. The crowd watched in shock, unmoved by the spectacle of violence, conditioned to wait and observe.

Buffy stopped when she had only one bottle left, opening it to stuff a rag inside the bottle with the tail end hanging out. Glaring at the crowd, she reached behind her to pull out her stake, using the sharp edge to rip open her palm before holding it up towards the crowd. "You want blood. You're so _thirsty_ for it," Buffy yelled furiously. "Come get mine. You want Slayer's blood – come and get it right from the source. _The_ Slayer."

Draco growled as his eyes lit in recognition, the ridges on his forehead rippling as his face twisted into snarl. "Buffy Summers…I'm gonna kill you."

"You first," Buffy snapped, reaching down to grab the last bottle while she grabbed the lighter out of her pocket. Lighting the damp rag, she hurled it at Draco, her eyes glinting in satisfaction as it hit him in the chest, the flames from the rag spreading immediately across his entire body. Draco screamed, his body lighting up before combusting into a pile of dust. The dozen vampires on either side of him jumped back to avoid the fire.

The vampires on stage stared in shock at the pile of Draco's dust, then snarled at Buffy but made no move to act uncertain without their charismatic leader issuing orders.

"Come on! You just gonna take that," Buffy sneered, goading them to attack her. The vampires in the crowd looked at each other in confusion, hesitating. "You're pathetic. Has it really gotten this easy for you? You forgot how to hunt? How to feed without it being handed to you?"

She slashed the stake into her palm again, grimacing as she whipped her hand in the direction of the crowd and let the blood splatter freely. The vampires growled as drops hit their faces, the powerful scent of Slayer's blood stroking their hunger, while the humans shrieked in disgust and began to back away towards the stage. Buffy smiled grimly. So much for humans loving blood. Posers.

A bulky male vampire on the stage grabbed the fallen microphone resting on top of Draco's ashes, picking it up to growl ,"Kill her" before jumping down into the middle of the crowd and pushing his way towards the bar.

The vampires began to move forward en masse, leaving the humans behind in the wake of their blood lust. Buffy backed away down the bar in the direction of the entrance hallway, watching the vampires prowl forward, growling loudly through their fangs.

Buffy paused as she reached the end of the bar, flinching as something pinched her in the neck. She reached up and pulled out a dart, glancing across the room at a man in standard Goth gear holding a tranquilizer gun. She staggered slightly as the drugs entered her bloodstream, making her fight to keep her balance. _Oh god_, she thought dizzily. _Time to move_.

Shaking her head desperately, Buffy leapt off the bar and started running towards the entrance hallway, gasping as darts pierced her in the back. She brushed an arm behind her, attempting to pull out the darts within reach and felt the brush of cold hands wrenching the back of her shirt. _Faster, faster, faster,_ she chanted.

Her heart raced as she forced her legs to fly across the floor, straining forward with each desperate stride. Cold hands grabbed at her shirt, her arms, her pants, ripping off pieces of fabric as she refused to let them slow her momentum. As she reached the darkened hallway, she staggered against the wall, bouncing off it as her knees shook from the drugs pumping through her system. The hallway floor tilted in front of her like a shifting tunnel at a carnival but she kept running, forcing one foot in front of the other.

_So close, so close, keep running, almost…_

She pushed forward with the last ounce of her Slayer strength as she barreled into the closed door, smashing through it to land on her knees. A burly vampire tackled her from behind, rolling her to the side and lifting her up by the neck as he slid his fangs into her shoulder. She gasped in pain only to scream as the vampire was wrenched away violently and leather clad arms picked her up roughly to carry her away from the doorway.

"Now! She's clear!" Spike yelled, pushing her against the brick wall to the far left of the alleyway.

Buffy watched dazedly, her vision going in and out of focus, as Gunn lit up a flamethrower and doused the vampires that came running out of the club's entrance.

"Oh, hell yeah!" Gunn grinned viciously as he brandished the flamethrower from side to side against the hordes of vamps that were bottlenecked between the narrow entrance door and the wall of fire that quickly turned into disintegrating bodies of dust. He stepped forward through the falling ashes and pressed down hard on the fuel, letting out great bursts of flames to reach the vamps that were attempting to retreat back inside the club.

The flamethrower began to wane in its intensity and eventually puttered out. Gunn watched the dozen or so remaining vampires running back inside the club as he lowered the torch.

Angel and Connor came up to stand beside him. "Time for us to do the clean-up," Angel said grimly, looking briefly over at Buffy held in Spike's arms.

Connor grinned, pulling out a stake and twirling it roughly. "Let's finish this."

Gunn set down the torch and jerked his head at his crew. "Move out! If it's undead, stake it." He glanced awkwardly at Angel. "Er, except Angel. Let's go!"

Buffy watched over Spike's shoulder, her entire body going numb as she succumbed to the drugs in her bloodstream. Spike held her cradled in his arms, half-kneeling as he leaned against the wall with her sitting on his bent legs. He applied pressure to her shoulder, alternating between growls and a comforting rumble when she whimpered.

"Spike?" Buffy's voice was weak. "Did it work?"

"Yeah, love," Spike reassured her, voice tight. "It worked."

She leaned forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder, sighing. "I feel dizzy."

"S'okay, I've got you." Spike's voice cracked in mid-sentence.

Suddenly remembering, Buffy struggled to lift her head up. "The…the Slayer inside…she's…"

"Angel's taking care of it. Don't worry. Shhh," Spike crooned.

Buffy struggled to stand, trying to move her legs with no success. She clutched at Spike's shoulders weakly, her hands starting to go numb. "I have to…have to make sure…"

"Hush now," Spike said gently.

She allowed her head to fall back against his shoulder, looking up into his worried face. She smiled woozily, the drugs beginning to affect her mood as the rush of adrenaline left her body. "You…you take care of me," she said loopily, her voice high and weak.

His mouth crooked momentarily before he flattened it into a severe frown. "I do. When you let me, pet."

She closed her eyes, snuggling into the side of his neck. "This is nice."

Spike scoffed, hugging her tightly to him. "Is it now?" he asked incredulously, unable to keep a faint smile off his face. "You plannin' on passing out anytime soon, Slayer?"

"Uh huh…"


	12. Chapter 12

"This is nice. We're safe here." Buffy smiled as she looked around the darkened bedroom while resting in Spike's arms. She eyed the empty comfy chair next to the bed and the vague shadows of furniture-shaped objects in the hazy corners of the room. The space seemed endless and limited at the same time. The unknown mystery of surrounding shadow was comforting, establishing a distance between the outside world and the secret cocooned haven she'd created in Spike's embrace. She looked at Spike, seeing a blurred impression of blue eyes gazing back at her intensely.

"We're safe as house," she whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek. The sensation of touch was amorphous and strange, like she was caught between the point of reaching forward and letting go with no connection in between.

Spike smiled slightly, turning to kiss her palm.

Buffy breathed deeply and leaned back into his shoulder. "Can't find us here."

"You know they'll come looking – can't help it. They'll be missing you. Can't keep them in the dark for long."

Buffy looked at him worriedly then forced a reassuring smile. "No. I made it safe here." She reached for Spike's hand and grasped it gently. "I promise."

"I see you, Buffy," Spike said slowly, waiting for her to look back at him. "I _do_ see you."

Buffy nodded. "I know."

"No, listen to me. I _see_ you. Inside." He reached up and gestured for her to look behind her. "You're here."

Buffy glanced over her shoulder and gasped as a black shadow dove at her, slashing her across the cheek.

"_No friends_," the shadow hissed. "_Love is pain._"

Buffy pushed Spike back to the other side of the bed before jumping up to face the shadow that wavered in front of her. "Get away," she panted. She raised her clenched fists and settled into a defensive stance. The shadow loomed above her and she threw a punch with all her strength but it only passed through the haze. The black mist drifted around her, teasing and taunting as she attacked it futilely. It looped around her body like a snake, up her legs and around her waist, caressing her shoulders and drifting across the cut on her cheek before slowly fading away into the surrounding darkness.

Buffy sighed as her shoulders drooped. "It's gone," she said as she turned to crawl back into bed. She reached for Spike, settling back into his arms.

"Shouldn't be surprised it found us here. In the dark…" Spike mused.

"I like the dark," Buffy answered automatically in a quiet, detached voice. Her forehead screwed up as she concentrated. "I _am_ the dark," she added slowly, looking up at Spike as the realization flashed across her face.

Spike smiled fondly. "I know, love."

Buffy's heart clenched and she reached desperately for Spike's hand, gripping it tightly. Her breathing quickened as she looked around the room, waiting for the shadow to return and attack again. Time passed slowly as she watched vigilantly, an eternity caged within the minutes of pained anticipation.

The shadows began to clear as a faint light touched the edges. Realizing the light was coming from the bed, she turned back towards Spike and gasped in shock at the brilliant glow emanating from her hand into his.

Spike swallowed painfully. "Buffy," he said hoarsely. "Let go."

Her grip tightened as she shook her head slowly. "I can't." She looked up into Spike's eyes, horrified. "I can't let go."

Spike's body began to convulse, the light spreading until it covered him completely. "Buffy," he gasped.

"I'm sorry. I have to," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "I'm the Slayer."

Spike threw his head back, groaning in pain as the light increased in intensity.

Buffy whimpered, her grip nearly crushing the bones in his hand. She leaned in closer to look into Spike's eyes. "I love you," she said brokenly. "I'm sorry I love you."

Spike face contorted grotesquely as he tried to smile at her. "S'all…all I wanted."

Buffy licked away at the tears that landed in the curve of her lips before tilting her head to gently touch Spike's lips with eyes closed, holding him still to her until the pressure of his lips turned to nothing and she tasted ashes in her mouth. She opened her eyes wide to see his ashes falling onto the covers of the bed. Her mouth fell as she whimpered brokenly, the disjointed sounds coming closer and closer together until they became one long, horrible keening as she laid her hands in his ashes.

"It was only a matter of time, Buffy," a deep voice spoke to her from the shadows before stepping forward into her line of vision. Angel touched the hilt of the sword sticking out of his chest before looking at Buffy reprovingly. "You knew it was only a matter of time."

"No," she shook her head.

"Come on, Buffy," Angel said roughly. "Wake up. Time to face reality."

She closed her eyes, sobbing. Angel leaned forward and shook her by the shoulders.

"Wake up, Buffy. Wake up!" Angel shouted angrily. "You don't get to hide in here."

Buffy gasped as her eyes shot open, blinking dazedly against the light streaming in from the window. Angel loomed above her, standing next to the bed and looking concerned. She glanced around confusedly at the strange bedroom decked out in 50's décor before searching the covers desperately, only to find silk and cotton meeting her fingertips. She looked questioningly at Angel. "Where's Spike?" she croaked.

Angel's brow furrowed before he answered. "He's following a lead. Christy jumped Nina and escaped while we were taking out the vamp club." He sat down in the chair next to the bed. "Are you feeling alright? I was going to let you sleep but you sounded…upset. Bad dream?"

"Just a dream," Buffy replied, eyes distant. Sitting up, she touched the bandage on her shoulder and grimaced at the sting. Pulling the bandage off, she eyed the two jagged tears that were healing slowly.

"You should start to heal faster now that the drugs are out of your system," Angel reassured.

Buffy smiled politely. "Right." Sighing, she leaned back against the headboard.

"Still tired?"

"Is there a word stronger than yes?"

Angel smiled. "I think yes will do."

Buffy chuckled quietly before looking at Angel curiously. "You know, we kinda got interrupted earlier. About Connor…"

Angel lowered his eyes. "To make an incredibly long story short, Connor's my son. I slept with Darla a few years ago and wham bam, mystical pregnancy. He was taken from me when he was only a few months old to a hell dimension. That's why he's all grown up now. He's a good kid. Smart. He got into Stanford." He smiled slightly.

"I'd ask how this is even possible but…Dawn. I get it. Ours is a wild and crazy life." Buffy scoffed suddenly. "Darla?" She rolled her eyes.

"It was a low point," Angel assured her defensively.

Shaking her head, Buffy played with the covers as the fog cleared from her drug-induced sleep. She looked up at Angel, eyes intent. "The Slayer inside – did she…is she okay?"

"She's fine, she's at the hospital," Angel said comfortingly. "Getting a blood transfusion and anything else she needs."

Buffy nodded, relieved. "Good. And the rest? What happened after I…?" She raised her hand and mimed like her hand was a crashing plane.

"We cleared out the place. A few of the people inside had some scrapes and bruises, but nothing serious. It was a good plan," Angel said solemnly. "Except for the part where you almost died. But hey, who hasn't come up with a crazy plan like that?"

"Speaking from experience? Like say, taking over an evil corporation and helping them do evil things last year?"

Angel's mouth quirked as he raised an eyebrow. "It was a low point."

"You know, that excuse only works so many times. And it didn't even work that well the first time." Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, flinching slightly at the pain in her shoulder.

Angel shrugged, eyes dark. "It's the best I've got."

"Were you always this cryptic?" Buffy asked, eyes narrowed.

Angel looked back at her silently.

"Yeah, thought so." She blinked. "Somehow I forgot."

A minute passed in silence, the two of them avoiding each other's gaze. Buffy stared down at her hands now resting in her lap, sighing quietly before looking up at Angel. She stared at his face, his broad shoulders, his pale skin. He was still as handsome as ever, though he looked older somehow. Like the past few years had been hard on him as well. The mystery in his dark eyes that she'd found so romantic and tantalizing as a teenager now confounded her. The secrets she knew he was keeping from her, things he was too ashamed to share or just didn't want her to know.

"We really don't know each other anymore, do we?" she said sadly. The realization hurt her more than she'd thought possible, like something she'd always taken for granted had been ripped out from under her. The affection and warmth she felt for him still lived in her heart, but she finally recognized the distance that stood between them. That had always stood between them.

Angel stood up slowly. "You're tired, Buffy. You should get some more rest."

"No," she shook her head jerkily. "I don't want to go back to sleep."

Angel nodded as he walked towards the door.

"Angel…" Buffy's voice wavered. "Thanks."

"For what?" he asked curiously.

"For waking me up," she replied simply.

Angel smiled as he closed the door behind him, leaving Buffy alone with her thoughts. She rolled out of bed and stretched carefully, walking stiffly to the adjoining bathroom. Fumbling for the light switch inside, she closed her eyes against the fluorescent glare as she turned on the sink faucet. Bending down, she splashed cold water on her face, gasping slightly at the shock.

Toweling her face dry, she eyed the tank top and the pajama pants she wore speculatively. Spike must have gone to her hotel to get her clothes. Or someone must have. She hoped it was Spike because that meant he was the one who dressed her as opposed to the relative strangers she'd just met. Or Angel. Or Angel's son. Oh god. It better have been Spike.

Turning the bath's faucet on, she watched it run down the drain as she waited for it to heat up properly. She splayed her fingers under the falling water, testing the temperature carefully before flipping the stopper and letting the tub slowly fill with water. Steam began to billow from the hot water, filling the small bathroom and thickening the air.

Pulling her clothes off, she glanced at the half full tub before turning towards the fogged mirror over the sink. Swiping away the moisture with her right hand, she appraised herself in the mirror. She looked exhausted. Weary. The bite marks on her shoulder stood out in a brilliant red against the pale gold of her skin. She frowned, fingering the healing tears and wondering if they'd scar the way Angel's bite had so many years ago.

Her body was covered in scars, admittedly fainter than they would be if she had no Slayer healing. But the scars on the surface were starting to build up over the years. She touched her abdomen, exploring the clean-cut scar from the sword blade that had impaled her from behind during the final battle with the First and its army of ubervamps.

The memory of Spike turning to ashes in her dream sprang to mind and she flinched. There'd been a time when she'd relished the thought of Spike evaporating into nothing, turning to dust. She'd even craved doing it with her own hands. She fingered the faint bite scar on her neck, thinking of Angel and wondering how her world had so drastically changed.

She loved Spike. It felt strange to even think it, let alone say it out loud. But she did. She loved Spike.

_How was this supposed to work?_ she wondered.

A staccato of raps on her bedroom door cut off her train of thought. She grabbed a towel, wrapping it around her body as she walked towards the door, expecting Angel had returned to check on her. Or even better, Spike had gotten back from his errand. She smiled. He could help scrub her back. Maybe kiss her shoulder and make it all better.

Pulling the door open wide, her grin faded into shock. She blinked. "Willow."


	13. Chapter 13

Buffy felt the room tilt slightly. She crossed her arms in front of her, suddenly very aware that she was naked underneath the towel. Not that it mattered. It was just Willow.

Except it was _Willow_. Who wasn't supposed to be here, who was supposed to be in Scotland with faux!Buffy and, and… Oh, crappit. Willow looked pissed. She had that you-better-explain-yourself-missy look on her face with a hint of hurt around the corners of her eyes.

Buffy clutched the top of her towel and gave a faint smile. "Hey, Wills…um, just let me get dressed real quick." She stepped back, inviting Willow to follow her into the suite as she turned towards her luggage laid out next to the bed. The snick of the door closing made her shoulders twitch and she quickly grabbed a shirt and jeans to slip into. Oops, and panties. Underwear was definitely of the good. Not that she was using getting dressed as a delaying tactic. She totally wasn't.

"So you having fun? I sure hope you are. I hope this was worth it. So was it? Was it _fun_?" Willow tossed the accusation bitterly at Buffy's back.

Buffy gulped, closing her eyes before reaching down to slide the jeans up over her hips and beneath the towel wrapped around her.

"Are you gonna answer me?" Willow's voice grated roughly and Buffy jerked her shoulder defensively.

Holding the white baby tee to her chest she turned to meet Willow's accusatory gaze. "Willow, it's hard to explain. So much has happened. I just had to…" Buffy looked at her imploringly.

"You had to what? Lie to your friends? Disappear completely? Run halfway across the world? Send a girl magicked up to look and act just like you to trick us all into thinking you were okay?" Willow's lip quivered and she dropped her gaze. "Oh, you're hurt –" Willow reached forward to touch the bite marks on Buffy's shoulder only to pull back abruptly, scowling. "Not that I care. 'Cause I'm still mad at you. Really mad. Extremely, monumentally angry." She grimaced sympathetically. "Does it hurt?"

Buffy absently touched the bite marks before shrugging. "These? No, not really. Not anymore. They're healing." Turning, she dropped the towel and swiftly pulled the white baby tee over her head, patting the hem of the shirt into place around the rise of her jeans. Licking her lips, she looked at Willow over her shoulder. "On a scale of one to ten, how angry are you really?"

Willow raised an eyebrow, firming her lips and chin into her most reproving expression before pointing at her face.

Buffy sighed. "Right. Okay. I can explain." She fluttered her hands as she looked around the room. "I really can explain. I swear. I…I…" She collapsed back on the bed in defeat. "I don't even know where to begin."

"How about start with what you're doing here? Or why you lied to your best friends? More than lied – you flat-out conned us. Well okay, the other Buffy only fooled Xander and Dawn and the other Slayers but…"

Buffy looked up knowingly. "She didn't fool you. I thought maybe…I mean, the Buffybot fooled you that first time."

Willow shrugged. "Yeah, but that was then. Things are different now. I didn't want to freak you out but ever since we – since _I_ brought you back…"

Buffy looked down, eyes going out of focus. "We're connected."

"Yeah," Willow agreed softly. Puffing out a breath of air, she continued. "I already know part of it, if that helps. Andrew spilled his guts after I tossed Imposter Buffy across the room and threatened to go all Dark Wicca on him if he didn't tell us what happened to you in Rome. I would've been here sooner except I was out following a mystical lead when your twin arrived." The last tinges of anger falling away, Willow walked forward and sat down next to Buffy, shoulder to shoulder. "So Spike's alive and you decided to pull a President Dave in order to take a vacay from the Slayer White House."

"Dave? Obama's real first name is Dave?" Buffy squinted thoughtfully. "Somehow that sounds even weirder than Barack. Dave Obama." Buffy shook her head dazedly. "Wait – his last name's really Obama, right?"

"No, it's a – Xander would totally get me right now." Willow bit her lip. "Buffy, what's going on? You just left and, well, us being in Scotland I was thinking fairies had grabbed you and left a fetch in your place."

"Why would fairies leave –oh, you said…right, not clutch. 'Cause fairies wouldn't leave a purse in my place. What's a fetch?"

"It's a doppelgänger the Fae make out of shadow to stand in for the person they kidnap and take back to their otherworld and hey, stop distracting me 'cause I know you don't really care about this stuff." Willow lightly slapped her palms on the top of her thighs before shaking her right index finger at Buffy.

Buffy grinned, her cheeks dimpling.

"And hey, no acting all cute. You're not off the hook. You are so far from hookless, missy, you don't even know," Willow admonished.

Properly chastened, Buffy let the smile slip from her lips. "I just had to. I was angry and upset and I just had to come here."

Willow shook her head. "And you couldn't have just called us? Let somebody know you were okay? Buffy, you really scared us. And I'm only half trying to guilt trip you here, but it's true. We were worried."

Buffy looked down, sticking her hands between her knees like a little girl hiding a secret. "I just…I was looking for…"

"A bit of cold comfort?" Spike interrupted from the open doorway connecting to the suite next door.

"Spike," Buffy greeted him with a surprised smile.

"Spike! Hey, you're alive. Good for you," Willow chirped.

Spike nodded tersely at Willow, never taking his eyes off Buffy. "So that's it, then? You decided to put your old tune on repeat?"

Buffy shook her head, eyes confused. "What? I don't – "

"You know, you showed up out of the blue and I didn't want to question it. So damned happy to see you I didn't stop to think. Maybe I didn't wanna know." Eyes narrowed, he pointed at her sharply. "Keeping secrets again, love? Looking for a distraction, eh? Something you were too ashamed to tell your pet Scoobies about?" Spike grimaced, eyes ice cold as he bristled with anger and bent pride.

"Spike, what are you talking about? I didn't –"

"So you're denying it? Sorry, sweetheart, but I heard it straight from the witch's mouth. You ran off for a secret, dirty little run-in with yours truly." He hit his chest with a clenched fist. "I wondered why you never bothered to write back or leave word till now. Wasn't worth your time, was I? Not until you felt like bringing your dolly out of the box." He sneered.

Willow stood up and edged towards the suite's main door. "Um, I'm just gonna…" She left abruptly, closing the door behind her.

Buffy stood up, hands fisted at her hips. "What's going on? You just show up and start throwing around accusations like you – "

"Accusations? That's what we're calling it, are we?" Spike stalked forward, shoulders hunched forward aggressively. "More like finally getting to the bloody truth! You never were straight with me, love." He leaned back from her, looking her up and down measuringly. "No, s'not right. You never made any promises, did you? You never lied." He closed his eyes in self-disgust, biting his lower lip before looking up at the ceiling in despair. "I always fall for it. Always. Girl smiles my way, I bend over backwards." He looked at her sadly, eyes dripping with regret. "Woulda given you the moon, pet. The moon and all the stars in the bleedin' sky. Woulda given you everything. Anything." He tilted his head, eyes vulnerable and sad. "But it's never enough, s'it? Never enough," he finished softly, turning to leave.

"Spike, no…" Buffy reached forward to stop him, touching him gently by the arm.

Spike growled, turning and grabbing Buffy by the arms and shoving her back till her knees buckled against the bed and she tumbled down. Panting, she looked up in shock, struck silent by the waves of restrained violence emanating from Spike's glaring eyes.

"No more games," Spike snarled. "I'm done being your whipping boy. Your dirty little secret." A strange calm descending, he raised his head proudly. "Done being used."

"I'm not using you, Spike," Buffy denied, shocked. "This – _us_ – it's different. You have to believe – "

"Actions speak louder than words, pet. And yours are screaming something fierce. 've seen it all before. Enough to recognize it." He shook his head, his mouth twisted bitterly. "Besides, it's not like you've been saying much with words. And when you do, they're never the right ones."

Buffy's breath caught in her throat and she swallowed jaggedly. Struggling to breath, she forced her mouth open wide. "Spike…" she fought to bring the words out, terrified to let them be free but more terrified of what she'd lose if she didn't. "I lo – I love you."

"You can't even bring yourself to say it, can you? Not say it and really mean it. Not to me." He stepped back, hands held high in defeat. "I'm just chasing a fantasy, aren't I? Been holding out hope for over a year that somehow on the other side of the world, you were waiting there for me. Just wasn't our time yet. 'Cept it's never gonna be our time. I'm just the fool, yeah." He smiled sadly, his eyes burning. He nodded numbly. "So it's done. We're done."

"No," Buffy whispered, reaching up from the bed to him, entreating.

He jerked away from her touch. "Go home, Buffy. You don't belong here. Go home!" he spat before ripping open the suite's door and storming down the hallway.

Buffy stared at the empty space Spike had disappeared from, her hand still reaching out towards where he'd stood only moments ago. She slowly let her hand drop down, numb to the passage of time as she listened to the pounding of her heart and the rasping of her breath. The air felt heavy, like it was pushing down on her and she gave in to the weight and the weakness, falling to the bed with eyes open and still. When her eyes began to hurt from the unbearable dryness, she'd allow a single blink to disturb her frozen pose.

Her chest ached and she idly wondered if she'd somehow broken something internally in the fight yesterday. Patting her chest searchingly, she found no surprise wounds or physical injuries. There would be no new scars to mark the surface of her skin. That's as it should be. All her greatest wounds were carried in her heart. Her mangled, broken, aching heart. Oh. That's the pain. She remembered it now. She wondered why she wasn't crying and then decided she must have run out of tears. Or maybe she'd forgotten how.

She laid her hand on her heart as if to provide healing pressure for the invisible gaping hole, pushing down hard so the pain would come from the outside rather than from within. A gentle knock on the door drifted to Buffy's ears and her eyelids twitched.

"Buffy? Can I come in?" Willow asked hesitantly.

Willow. Willow wanted to come in. Come in where? Where was she? She looked blankly at the ceiling, trying to discern any clues from the spackled patterns.

"Buffy?"

A warm hand touched her arm and she absorbed the sensation, letting the heat roll through her. She'd never noticed before, but she could actually feel the magic in Willow's touch. That supernatural sensation of power akin to the tingle she felt when a vampire was near. She only felt it now because she was so still, existing in slow motion, the moments in between action and thought.

Magic. Vampire. Supernatural. Slayer. She was the Slayer. She had to move. Slayers didn't stop because they were in pain. They rode it out. It was her duty. Time to get up now. Get up, Buffy. Get up.

"Buffy? Are you okay?"

Buffy blinked rapidly, her vision coming into focus. She looked at Willow, noting her concerned expression and smiled reassuringly, the pull of muscles feeling forced and plastic. "I'm okay, Wills." Sitting up stiffly, Buffy looked around the room till she located her luggage on the other side of the bed. "Just let me pack real quick and we can leave."

Willow looked at her strangely for a moment before nodding. "Okay, I'll call and make sure the plane's ready." She smiled. "I figured you wouldn't want to teleport since it makes you…you know…" Willow mimed a gagging motion.

Buffy collected her bags and nodded. "Don't worry about it, Will. Fly, teleport, whatev. It won't make me 'you know'. I'm sure I won't feel a thing."

"Right. I'll just go let Angel know we're leaving. You'll be down in a few?" Willow asked over her shoulder as she walked outside the suite.

Buffy smiled again, her cheeks straining numbly like a doll moving at will. "Yep. Be right down."

Walking towards the bathroom to gather her toiletries, she frowned as she stepped into the wet carpet leading to the doorway. Opening the door, water sluiced out in waves and Buffy gasped. She'd left the bath's faucet on. The bathroom was overflowing as she trudged forward to turn off the hot water valve. Standing in the middle of the watery floor, Buffy grimaced at the projected damage she'd done to Angel's hotel. Maybe Willow could magically whip up a quick fix. Or she could just use some of her ill-gotten money to pay her way out of this problem.

"It'll be okay. I won't feel a thing."


	14. Chapter 14

Spike hunkered against the roof's door, waiting for the final rays of sun to recede so could escape outside. He'd stormed down the hall from Buffy's room towards the main exit only to freeze at the sound of voices in the lobby, turning with a dramatic swing of his duster to make a hasty retreat for higher ground. He'd kept climbing till he found access to the roof and the outdoors. He didn't immediately foresee the problem with climbing up, he hadn't thought it through. He should've gone back down to the sewers if he'd really wanted out. The sun had him trapped and he'd be damned if he'd walk back down past everyone. Angel had probably heard the entire row. Insufferable, nosy bastard.

He pushed his shoulder against the door jamb, glaring at the fading light stealing underneath the doorway into the cramped stairwell. He exhaled loudly. He'd been trapped in this excuse for a hideaway for over an hour. No way out that he could see. Forced to wait.

_The sun sets and she appears. _

Except she wasn't appearing at all. He hoped she didn't. He couldn't stand much more of it. Of her. Of the reading between the lines only to discover she wasn't even speaking the same language and everything she did say was in code, then written backwards and only fit to be read in a mirror. The woman drove him daft. Dafter than Dru and that was saying something.

The back of his neck tingled as he felt the night take reign over the sky. The darkness whispered tantalizing promises as it always did. Time to hunt. Time to prowl. He ignored the call. Growling, he violently shoved open the door and stalked towards the roof's edge. Gripping the stone and mortar, his head hung dejected from weary shoulders. He gazed at the city lights of Los Angeles that blinked and blurred and shone like fluorescent stars fallen to Earth. The lights blurred as his stare unfocused, his eyelids twitched and his shoulders curled in with each punctuated return of his recriminating thoughts.

Things had been going so well. That should have been the first sign. Things were going too well. He hadn't given much thought to it. Just rode the wave and what a wave it was – the things she did to him. More fool him for not thinking to question it. Fool. Him.

It seemed like everybody was calling him that these days. There had to be something to it if the whole world was shouting the judgment down at him. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment that events started to turn sour, but he knew when they'd started spiraling out of his control. Christy. Why'd he even bother trying to find her? He should've let her rot in whatever loser wannabe lifestyle she chose.

More fool him.

"_You really are an idiot, ya know?" Christy sneered from her seat on the couch, holding an ice pack to her bruised jaw. _

_Spike snorted. "Found you easy enough. Bit of advice, pet – when you're on the run, don't go where the nasty men following you are sure to find you." He glanced around her living room. "Love what you've done with the place. That a new TV?"_

"_Yeah, flat screen. And so what if you did find me? What are you gonna do?" Christy rolled her eyes. "You won't kill me. You're too soft for that."_

"_There are worse things than death," Spike said darkly._

_Christy giggled. "Wow. Scary. I'm so scared right now. Really. You have no idea."_

_Spike raised his eyes to the ceiling before scowling at Connor when he heard a muffled chuckle from behind him. Connor shrugged, his face twitching as he held back a smile._

_Spike resisted the urge to snap at him. The boy was supposed to be his back-up, maybe learn a thing or two. It was getting downright embarrassing. "Right, so maybe we won't kill you or torture you on account of you being human. Doesn't mean you can't be turned over to the proper authorities and wh-"_

"_And you'll tell them what? What crime did I commit? What evidence do you have? Just because certain circles have accepted the existence of vamps doesn't mean a thing when it comes to the system. And from what I hear, you really don't want the "authorities" involved. Burn down any buildings lately? Ya know, besides the ones filled with innocent people."_

"_They were worlds away from innocent."_

"_So you get to judge them? You get to kill them? Since when?" She managed to look down at him scornfully from her perch on the edge of the couch. Spike straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin in response, standing proud and tall. "I doubt the world needs the captain of pathetic passing judgment on anyone. Ring, ring. The world's calling, Spike – your application for World Savior's been rejected but thanks for playing." She lowered the ice pack to smirk. "Oh and just so that's clear, the 'thank you' part – total sarcasm." _

_Spike's shoulders jerked forward and he forcibly held himself back. "Pathetic? I'm not the one offering my neck for suck jobs to any tramp-vamp begging to get off. So how's it work, luv? You give 'em a twofer if they ask nicely? Do you polish his knob before or after he drinks you down? Probably before. Wouldn't want you fumbling around with poor coordination now, would they?"_

"_You'd know about the fumbling part. Written any good letters lately? And hey, it's good to hear you finally got the girl. Congratulations. Must be great. Reunited and it feels so good, right?" Her eyes widened comically. "Except I heard that she just showed up a few days ago." Christy bit her lip in mock confusion. "Strange. Could've sworn you wrote her that loser love letter last year."_

"…'_s been not quite a year," Spike mumbled, nonplussed._

"_Sure took her a while to pay her true love a visit. Maybe she got really busy. Or broke a nail. I'm sure something important came up. But hey! She's here now, ready to get wild and freaky, right? And you're more than ready to help scratch that itch, aren't you? So all's well that ends well. Life is just Brady fucking Bunch perfect with the fickle ho by your side."_

_Spike smothered a growl, stealing a glance at Connor from the corner of his eye. The back of his neck felt like it was burning. He had no way to counter her. He didn't know why Buffy had shown up out of the blue. Hadn't asked. And yeah, the timing did seem a bit odd. _

_He needed to end this. Sadly, the nasty trollop had a point. He couldn't kill her, torture her or call the cops. Though his conscience wasn't so much forbidding the first two as Buffy's firm 'we don't kill or torture humans' stance – seemed to him that was just asking for trouble. A little love tap could do a world of good in redirecting a misguided, most-likely-psychotic sycophant. As for intimidating her back on the straight and narrow…well, could see that wasn't working especially since all his best intimidation tactics included blunt, sharp, hot and cold objects interchangeably. All of which weren't allowed. Damn. Time to go. Anything to get her to stop talking about Buffy and his letter in front of the young nipper._

He remembered the awkward ride back to the Hyperion, Connor a silent shadow at his side. He'd fobbed off Angel when they'd walked in the double doors, saying the lead had run cold and Christy was long gone. Angel had shrugged it off and moved on. The girl never was that big a priority. Connor had stared at him silently as he tossed out the lies, refusing to counter his story. Spike had avoided looking at the boy, his throat burning as he'd stared at his feet. Then he'd gone upstairs.

His head hung lower and he numbly contemplated bashing his forehead against the rooftop's edge. Maybe he'd jump. It'd been a while since he'd fallen off a building. Physical pain would be a welcome distraction. Maybe he'd knock himself unconscious so he could stop thinking about it. About her.

God, that had gone brilliantly. Eavesdropping was never a good idea, especially when he didn't want to hear something that could be said behind his back but not to his face. Those kinds of confidences always brought a burning throat and a sick stomach. Oh yeah, and shame. Can't forget the shame. The extra special Buffy-induced shame. The one thing he hadn't missed since his time in Sunnydale.

Hell, her love taps to his nose were nothing in comparison. Nine times out of ten he welcomed her hands on him, even if they were clenched into fists. No, it was probably closer to ninety-nine times out of one hundred. Even when her hands brought pain, there was something there underneath, this sizzle of sensation and connection that made him want to lean into her vicious jabs with the same eagerness he reserved for her passionate caresses.

_You're in love with pain. Admit it. You like me because you enjoy getting beat down. So really, who's screwed up?_

Him. It was most definitely him. He was screwed up and hopeless and so damned pathetic he ought to kill himself and end this miserable attempt at existing. Except he couldn't. He could hear Angel pompously nattering on how Spike was weak and that it was always meant to end this way. He'd be damned if he'd prove Angel right. And the boy. It would set a bad example.

"So what's the plan? You stay up here till the end of time?" Connor drawled from behind him. He'd drifted up silently. The boy had skills. The only physical acknowledgment Spike gave to Connor's presence was an almost imperceptible tensing of his shoulders. "And when you turn to dust, I'll put you in an urn in that exact same spot so you never have to move. Or deal." He paused. "Or respond to a person when they're talking to you…which apparently is the same as talking to yourself so…" Connor turned to head back downstairs.

"It was the right thing to do," Spike murmured, his voice equal parts confidence and uncertainty.

"What was?" Connor asked. "Which part was right?"

Spike nodded to himself. "It _was_ the right thing to do." He turned to look at Connor calmly. "Remember how I told you that you can't keep going back for more, you've gotta learn from your mistakes – well, I finally learned from my mistakes."

"Learned what?"

"Self-respect." He locked eyes with Connor, his gaze intense and unblinking. "Don't ever let anyone treat you like less than you are." He raised his hand to slash at the air. "Never. You hear me?"

"Okay. I hear you. You've been heard." Connor shook his head. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Spike growled in frustration and strode forward to stare into Connor's face, grabbing him by the shoulders to shake him slightly. "Self-respect, boy. Don't tell me you don't understand that."

Connor shook Spike off, stepping back to laugh. "Self-respect, I get it. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. I know the word. But what are _you_ talking about? Is this all 'cause Christy decided to be a..well, I don't want to say 'bitch' but…"

"'S got nothing to do with that dozy trollop." Connor raised his eyebrows at the insult, most likely filing it away for later use. "This is about self-respect – " Connor rolled his eyes at Spike's repetition " – and not letting a woman treat you like a bloody doormat. You hearin' me? Self-respect." Connor mockingly mouthed 'self-respect' in harmony with Spike.

"So what's with the afterschool special? Does Big Bird's message somehow explain why you dumped all over your girlfriend? Who by the way is currently leaving the country."

"She's not my girlfriend. Never really was. I was just…convenient." Spike huffed and pointed at Connor. "Self-respect means you don't –

"Okay! Enough already. Enough with the word I will _not_ repeat or else I will _stake_ you." Spike opened his mouth to interrupt and Connor raised his hand in warning. Connor stepped back to look Spike up and down. "Just so we're clear, the woman who dropped everything, traveled halfway across the world to see you and has spent the past two days in a permanent lip lock with you, barring timeouts for vampire slayage and death club annihilation, this same woman who is _not_ your girlfriend…she did all this because you're _convenient_?" Connor squinted. "You sure you didn't miss the episode where Big Bird explained the importance of prefixes? 'Cause from where I'm standing, what your not-girlfriend did for you – that's the epitome of _in_convenient."

Spike's mouth hung open, his eyes alternating between Connor and the starlit sky above.

A heavy sigh interrupted their standoff and Angel stepped out from the rooftop's doorway. "You're an idiot, Spike."

Spike huffed defensively only to be cut off by Angel's deadly glare.

"There are a lot of things I wouldn't trust you to do right, William. So many things we're…you're not good enough for. But one thing I did teach you was to finish what you started." Angel looked out at the lights of the city. "Buffy's gone. She left a few hours ago." He was silent for a minute, jaw working from side to side. "She was…upset when she left," he continued in a quiet, matter of fact tone. Turning, he glared at Spike. "You broke it. Go fix it."

"Fix it? Say I'm sorry and beg forgiveness? Come crawling back here with my tail between my legs? You giving out lessons in how to be a sorry sod now?" Spike sneered. Meeting Angel's unrelenting stare, his attitude slowly melted from his face to reveal a naked vulnerability. "She doesn't lo –…trust me, it's better this way."

Angel scowled. "You think I'd be up here if I thought what you were doing was the right thing? The fact that you're doing it tells me it's the wrong thing, Spike." Angel closed his eyes briefly before looking at Spike solemnly. "I can't fix this, Spike. You can." He swallowed roughly. "So go fix it."

"I can't! I can't fix it, you poncey bastard. Because she doesn't love me," Spike growled. "Go on, rub it in. Everybody gets to take a lick. It might as well be your turn."

"I'm not going to try and convince you of what Buffy feels for you. Hell, I don't want to know. I've spent the past two days trying to not think about it. What I do know is this – she came here for you. She came in yelling at me, trying to find you. And once she did…" Angel sighed, clearly reluctant to continue. "You throw that away, all of it…then you really don't deserve her, William. But I never thought you did." Angel left the rooftop, disappearing silently down the stairwell into the Hyperion.

"So what's the plan?" Connor broke the silence. "Is there a plan?"

Spike blinked, looking up with a new determination lighting his eyes. "Yeah, there's a plan." He turned to look at the city lights, drinking in the view with new appreciation before turning to the eastern horizon in the night sky. "Looks like I'm headed to Rome."

Connor gave a slight smile. "Can I come?"


	15. Chapter 15

The silence stretched across an ocean. A transcontinental flight of the not-talking and the bad movie that was made to be mocked with her best friend except she couldn't because that would violate the not-talking rule, a rule she'd been trying to violate for hours but Buffy's stance was iron firm. Firm and inviolate. Hard as stone. A tough egg to crack. She was just full of witty witticisms today. Too bad no one would listen long enough to appreciate them. Willow had tried to break Buffy's code of silence with questions and jokes, even resorting to 'interesting' anecdotes when she failed to get more than the standard monotone, monosyllabic response from the unexpectedly taciturn Slayer. Nothing worked.

She felt like she was stuck in a time-warp at 30,000 ft and trying to pry a complete sentence from her significant other. Except Buffy wasn't a guitar playing werewolf and this wasn't high school. And she'd never been on a plane with Oz. And Buffy wasn't a man, which actually made more sense for her present circumstances but was beside the point. Oh, and Buffy wasn't Willow's significant other, though she was significant and technically an 'other'. Willow was sure that an honest Slayer would check the 'other' box on a census form asking her to identify her heritage.

Buffy would also have to check the box marked 'emotionally distant'. Not that there was a box for that. Though it would be sorta neat to have fair warning for these kind of things. Willow looked sadly at the back of Buffy's head. Buffy had been staring at the clouds passing by for over nine hours. Nine hours. Nine hours of the cold shoulder was officially driving Willow bonkers. She fidgeted in her seat for the thousandth time, accidentally catching the eye of the older lady seated across the aisle who gave her a knowing look before glancing at the airplane restroom behind them. Willow smiled awkwardly, giving an automatic shake of her head before ducking her chin. Clearly her need to have best friend girl-talk had reached the dangerously embarrassing level if she was unwittingly doing the gotta-pee dance.

"Buffy?" Willow asked tentatively.

"Hmm?" Buffy responded absently, not bothering to turn her head.

"You want to…" Willow hesitated. "You want to talk about what happened? You know, with Spike and… well, everything."

Buffy turned slowly and stared at Willow with a blank expression, quickly breaking eye contact and letting her stare go distant. "I'd rather not, if that's okay," Buffy said quietly before turning back towards the window.

Willows shoulders slumped, her eyes darting about the cabin as she looked for a distraction. Or courage. Or insight. Something. Anything. Two rows up and across the aisle, two teenage girls were giggling as they stared at a cute guy seated nearby grooving to the music on his iPod. Their heads were tilted in secretly as they whispered, their brown and blonde locks mingling while they shared a conspiratorial grin. "I miss us," Willow whispered.

"Huh?" Buffy turned to look at her curiously.

Willow swallowed. "I said I miss us. We don't…we don't talk anymore. Not like we used to." She glanced at the teenage girls again before raising a challenging gaze at Buffy. "Not since…"

"Since you brought me back," Buffy finished numbly, staring at the industrial fabric on the back of the chair in front of her.

"Right. Not since then," Willow answered sadly. A long, charged moment passed before she repeated, "I miss us."

Buffy's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, her forehead scrunching. "It's not…a lot has happened, Will. I've made peace with what you did. You didn't know I was…" Buffy lips tightened involuntarily. "You didn't know I was in heaven. And after, the whole trying to end the world thing. You've redeemed yourself again and again since then." Buffy gave Willow a reassuring look. "We're good, Will."

"But that's just it! We're so clearly _not _good that it can't get any not-gooder. And acting like we're okay, that's just making it worse. I'm tired of this. I'm sick of it. So we're gonna fix it. Okay?"

"Okay," Buffy drawled slowly. "What exactly are we fixing?"

Willow pointed at the empty seat between them. "This. Us. The not-talking and the awkwardness. There's a clearance sale on distant relations. It all must go."

Buffy looked skeptical. "And how are we doing this?"

Willow thought desperately. "Truth or dare?"

"We're on an airplane. What kind of dares could we possibly do that wouldn't get us arrested for being terrorists?"

Willow spied the Flight Attendant's refreshment cart down the aisle and her eyes lit up. "Drinking game of truth?"

"No. A world of no. And also that's a totally made-up game. Why do we need games to make this…_us _work?"

"'Cause you're, I mean not that this is your fault, but you're not that good with the communication parts of life lately. And I, um, I don't even know where to begin." Willow bit her lip. "So drinking game?"

Buffy rolled her eyes before nodding reluctantly. "But I'm going non-alcoholic here. The last thing I need is a jetlagged Cave Buffy showing up at Slayer Headquarters for scoldings and the judge-y stares. Not that they should even get to scold because I'm an adult and I can go wherever I want and do whatever I want. And Giles was the one who lied first, so he's the one who needs to apologize."

"So you're taking the position of 'He started it', huh?"

"Exactly."

Willow used a mild compulsion spell to nudge the Flight Attendant to come check on them. She would have used the call button on the ceiling, but they just ignored that nine times out of ten. Two diet cokes in hand and two more as back-ups, she turned to Buffy and nodded in satisfaction. "Okay, I'll go first." Willow took a sip of her drink. "I…I…"

Buffy raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"I've been blaming you for Tara's death." Willow eyes flooded with tears, her throat closing as she struggled to force out the words. "If I hadn't brought you back, if I'd just checked to see where you really were, then you'd still be in heaven and Tara would be alive." Tears brimmed and slipped over the edges of Willow's lower eyelids.

"Willow, I –"

"No! No, Buffy. I know it's not your fault and I know it's irrational and wrong." Willow raised her hand to wipe the tears off her cheeks. "But that's why I was gone for so long. Why I'd stayed in South America with Kennedy while you and Xander were setting up shop in Scotland. That's why I-"

"You're right," Buffy interrupted in a dull voice.

"What?"

"You're right to blame me. I already do," Buffy repeated, her voice gaining strength. "I figured you'd noticed by now. How everything I touch just…dies. Jenny, Angel, Mom…Spike. Tara was just another person who was close to me that I couldn't save. Only worse. Tara took the bullet meant for me. I've cheated death so many times. And every time I dodge right, death takes someone I love." Buffy looked at Willow painfully, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I did love Tara, you know. She was kind and understanding. She was…comfort. Home. I wouldn't have made it that year after I came back if it wasn't for Tara. I loved her too," she finished quietly.

Willow smiled. "She was easy to love. She was meant to be loved." A heartfelt moment passed before Willow vehemently shook her head. "No, it's not your fault. It was Warren. No one's to blame but him. Not you, Buffy. Not you," Willow's voice grew confidently. She finally believed that now. Having voiced her doubt, that doubt had disappeared.

Buffy clenched her fists in her lap, her drink forgotten on the tray in front of her. "Being a Slayer means fighting, constant fighting and danger. And death. Death is on my heels." She raised her eyebrow as she paused. "Being the Slayer…I tried…" Buffy looked at Willow, her eyes tormented. "I tried so hard to protect you guys. From the darkness. From me. I tried _so_ hard." She choked back a sob. "But I can't. I keep trying to push you guys away, but you keep coming."

"Buffy," Willow consoled her, lip quivering as she reached out to grasp her hand. "You're not alone. And you shouldn't be alone. Buffy, it's not your fault. You can't control everything. You can't save everyone. We just…we just do our best. Everyday. And the cool part? We do it together." Willow squeezed Buffy's hand tightly.

Buffy closed her eyes. "Strong is fighting," she whispered.

"You betcha."

Buffy smiled and gave Willow a fond look. "How do you do that? Stay positive and upbeat in the face of…"

"All this angst, tragedy and heartbreak? I think Xander's country music collection desensitized me at an early age," Willow joked.

"Xander listens to country music?" Buffy exclaimed in surprise.

"Only when he's feeling blue," Willow assured her.

"Huh, maybe that's my problem. I've been listening to the wrong music. I've been rolling with the Pop, Alt Rock and R&B when I should have been crying on key to Patsy Cline." Buffy looked at Willow speculatively. "Got any country on you?"

Willow shook her head. "I refuse to encourage the self-flagellation. No music of pain for you, missy."

"This from the girl trying to get me drunk. Yours is a strange moral code." Buffy fell silent for a moment. "I really screwed up, Will," she confessed solemnly.

"With Giles? Nah. He'll be fine. Plus he's in the wrong too so you can both slap each other's wrists and move on to the make-up hugs."

"No, I screwed up with Spike."

"Oh." Willow chewed on her lip. "You never answered me earlier, I mean back at the hotel when I first showed up. You never said what you were doing in LA, why you had to go to LA to see Spike and why you lied about it."

"It'll sound crazy."

"Sounds like my kind of story."

Buffy gave a small smile before letting her mouth fall. "You wouldn't understand how I could…how I cared…how important Spike was to me. Is. How important Spike is to me. You and Xander. You didn't see how much he'd changed or why. And I understand. Spike's hurt you both in the past."

"You mean I wouldn't understand being afraid to share an important and unconventional relationship with my best friends?" Willow quirked an eyebrow.

"Not afraid," Buffy denied only to stop at Willow's pointed look. "Okay, afraid. It's not like you guys weren't vocal enough over the years with your not liking him. Especially Xander. Mostly Xander."

"Buffy. Tara," Willow said significantly. "I understand."

"Last time I checked Tara never tried to kill your friends." Buffy sighed. "I guess I just got so used to hiding everything to do with Spike. And at some point I didn't want to share it. When I found out he was alive, I just knew I had to see him for it to be real."

"But why send a stand-in Buffy? Why not just tell us?"

"See here's the crazy. If I didn't tell anyone I was going to see Spike, if I sent someone else to go be Buffy at Slayer Central, then I could go to LA and be… _just_ be Buffy. Not the Slayer. And the craziness of my life wouldn't touch us. It couldn't. We'd be…safe." The corner of Buffy's lip lifted ironically. "Except it didn't work out that way."

"The Spike freaking out part? Yeah, caught that."

"That and the not having Slayer stuff follow me everywhere I go. But the lying part. Yeah, Spike…I don't know, I guess he misunderstood. He thought I was using him like last time." Buffy lowered her eyes. "Yeah, not my proudest moment. Months worth of bad moments."

"Do you love him, Buffy?" Willow questioned her quietly.

Buffy hesitated before looking at Willow helplessly, almost apologetically. "I do."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Do?"

"About Spike."

"Uh…nothing?"

Willow scowled. "You're just giving up?"

"Will, he won't even talk to me," Buffy said defensively. "He kicked me out of LA. And speaking of which, what is it about my exes thinking they can just kick me out of a city? Like they owned it or something, please."

"You can't just give up! The giving up leads to no smoochies. And trust me, you'll miss the smoochies."

"Will, he won't even listen to me. How can I do anything when he won't let me explain?"

"Maybe…" Willow raised her eyes to the ceiling before smiling slowly. "Maybe you should write him a letter."

"A letter?"

"See it's perfect. You get to say all you want to say without him interrupting and distracting you. Perfect solution," Willow nodded her approval.

"And I'll be getting him to read this letter how?" Buffy asked in disbelief.

Willow bit her lip. "Oh oh! I'll enchant it so that once he touches the letter he'll have to read it. See? Perfect solution. Damn I'm good," Willow grinned, her eyes sparkling.

Buffy coughed an involuntary laugh which grew into a joyful and high-pitched giggle. She continued to laugh, her shoulders shaking as tears fell down her cheeks. Willow smiled in response at the sound of Buffy's laughter. It'd felt like an eternity since she'd heard it. Buffy's laughter eventually quieted and she wiped away the tears from her face, a grin still dimpling her cheeks.

Willow watched her give a gusty sigh as she settled back into her chair. Buffy turned suddenly to look at Willow, still smiling and lunged forward across the empty seat between them, hugging Willow tightly as she rested her head in the crook of her shoulder. "I love you, Will," Buffy whispered.

Willow blinked back a sudden rush of tears and smiled, hugging Buffy tightly. "Well, duh."

Buffy laughed and pulled away to wipe her sleeve under her eyes. The plane jerked suddenly and they both looked up as the pilot's voice announced they would be landing shortly. Buffy smiled and looked at Willow. "This is my favorite part," Buffy confided. "Well, I like all the parts but this is just extra special."

"What? Landing?"

Buffy looked up at the ceiling, almost as if she were looking through it to the sky above. "No, the coming down to Earth." She placed her hand across her heart like she was preparing to pledge allegiance. "Coming back down is the best part."

"Personally, I like the landing safely part, but that's just me."

Buffy smiled and, hand across her heart, whispered, "Fortune favors the brave."


	16. Chapter 16

_Scotland_

Buffy glanced at Willow before hunching down into the passenger seat of Willow's car. Well, somebody's car. It probably belonged to Buffy if it was purchased with Slayer funds. Funds which were acquired through ill-gotten means. Alright, the concept of ownership was getting dicey in her own mind, but that was a whole other bag of grey area to sort through later. She was still grappling with her new mantra of full disclosure in order to be a good friend and how it related to her duty to protect the world.

"Will? You know there are some things I _can't_ tell you, right?"

Willow looked at Buffy before returning her attention to the road. "Well, yeah. I kinda figured some things. I mean, if you're holding someone else's confidence, you can't just spill the beans."

"Right. Confidences. Or, ya know, Slayer related stuff. Like talking about things that could change the future." Buffy grimaced. "Except I'm not sure if changing the future is what I'm supposed to be doing. Or if I'm even changing it by what I'm doing or just making the future happen. Or maybe the future still happens but it's a different future disconnected from our new future and my god, I think I just broke my brain."

"Buff, have you been watching the Sarah Connor Chronicles with Andrew again? You know last time it gave you a migraine."

"Right, because that pain had nothing to do with Andrew squealing like a teenage girl over Summer Glau. She's not even that tough. I could totally take her. And sure she's pretty but in no way hotter than me. Right?"

"Sure. Right," Willow reassured her a bit too vigorously. "But hey, ask me the same question about Tina Fey and you're not gonna like the answer. I've sworn a solemn oath never to betray the Fey."

"Right. Betrayal. So it's not…I'm not betraying you by not telling you. Even though I really want to. Even though I think maybe I should. But then I think maybe I shouldn't because oh, look end of the world." Buffy held up both hands to weigh the hypothetical decisions against each other in the air.

"It might help if I actually knew what we were talking about here."

"But that's just the thing. I can't tell you. At least, I don't think I can. So how can you help me decide what to do if I can't tell you?"

"That question was rhetorical, right?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. Maybe. My head hurts."

"So maybe let it go for now 'cause we're here." Willow nodded towards the manor house ahead as they drove through large wrought-iron gates.

"We're here? Already?"

"Yep, after nearly 20 hours of travel we're finally here. Trip go by too fast for you? Should we have gone the long route by steamer boat instead of flying? Maybe rode here by horseback? Or walked. We could have walked."

"God, this is going to be awkward."

"Yep."

"And you said Giles is here? You're sure? Maybe he left again. 'Cause he hasn't been around much at all so it'd be just like him to disappear."

"Buffy, he's here. I can tell."

"Well, that's not creepy at all."

"Hey, at least it's useful."

Willow swung the car to a halt in front of stone steps leading up to large oak double-doors, unbuckled her seat belt and turned to look at Buffy solemnly. "Ready?"

"No."

"Okay then," Willow chirped. "Let's go!"

Buffy slowly climbed out of the car and followed Willow up the steps. "Wait," Buffy cried, grabbing Willow's arm as she was about to open the door. "Just uh…"

"Buffy, you've faced down some of the scariest evil this world has ever seen. You can do this. Easy. You could do this with your eyes closed, hands tied behind your back."

"Oh great, way to encourage the 'walking to the gallows' imagery, Will."

"Come on, Buffy. Time to woman up and get it done." Willow pushed her towards the door. "I've got your back. Promise."

Buffy hesitated before straightening her shoulders and reaching for the old-fashioned doorknob. She could do this. She'd face down Giles, make him apologize for how he done her wrong and then all would be swell in the land of the Slayers. Everything would be okay.

She just had to open the door first.

No problem. Just open the door and deal. She could do this. Why were real demons so much easier to face than her inner demons? How did facing her friends become more terrifying than staring down evil?

Buffy turned to look at Willow one last time before bracing herself to open the door.

"You planning on coming inside or what?" Dawn snarked.

Buffy turned around in surprise. "Huh?"

Dawn raised an annoyed eyebrow before kicking Buffy in the shin.

"Ow."

"What? It's what you get every time you do something stupid. You should be glad I only save it for the times you're being a complete dumbass or I'd be kicking you every five minutes."

Buffy scowled. "Since when it is okay to kick your sister? Is this a new rule? Do I get to kick you now? You really don't want to go there, Dawn. 'Cause oh yeah, there have been times when I definitely wanted to kick you in the ass and my kicks – they hurt more."

Dawn looked unimpressed in the way teenagers have perfected throughout the ages.

"Wait a sec – you kicked me!" Buffy exclaimed.

"Duh, I was there. It happened like 2 seconds ago. And again, this is another moment where I'd have to kick you for being stupid if I didn't have such high standards." Dawn crossed her arms and gave Buffy an 'I'm smarter than you' look.

Buffy rolled her eyes and grabbed Dawn in a tight hug. "You kicked me! You! With the normal legs that aren't hooves or 8 feet long." She pulled back to look at Dawn in amazement. "How did this happen?"

"Oh, you mean the whole curse being lifted? It happened while my sister was running around the world being all self-involved and twitchy." Dawn dropped her mock-anger and grinned. "Long story, short. Willow brought Kenny over and well, things just worked themselves out."

"Ugh, Kenny. I _really_ dislike him."

"Well, then you'll be happy to hear I said no to his wanting to get back together," Dawn reassured.

"He wanted to get back together? After he turned you into a Giant and a centaur?"

"Oh and a doll. But you missed that part."

Buffy blinked before turning to Willow who was biting her lip to keep from grinning. "Are Thricewise slayable? As in evil? 'Cause I think there's an ex out there that needs to be axed."

Dawn harrumphed. "Nice to see the latent protective instincts kicking into high gear. Even though the killing talk – so overkill. It's over, Buffy." Dawn pointed down at her normal body. "Witness it being over. And speaking of exes …" Dawn's voice went quiet. "How's Spike?"

"Not dust."

Dawn grinned. "So better then?"

"Yes, the not being dust is an improvement."

"And you guys are back together?" Dawn looked behind them to the empty car. "Or maybe not…"

"It's complicated."

"Huh, everything with you is complicated."

"Okay, it's a work in progress."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "But he's really okay?"

"Yes, he is," Buffy promised. "And I'm hoping…well, maybe you'll get to see him sooner than you think."

"Cool." Dawn smiled, stepping back to let Buffy and Willow walk into the foyer. "All the Slayers are out training, but Giles and Xander are in the library working on some kind of battle strategy." Dawn picked up her purse off the bench and headed back towards the door. "Later!"

"Hey," Buffy called out. "Where do you think you're going?"

Dawn turned around, hands on her hips. "Shopping. Duh. I've been stuck wearing the same boring outfit for the past couple months. I need retail therapy – stat." She turned and skipped down the entryway steps.

"Nice to see her priorities are in order," Willow commented.

"We should all be so lucky," Buffy said enviously. Turning reluctantly, she walked towards the library and opened the door before she had a chance to over think it, walking inside with Willow trailing behind her. Xander and Giles stood hunched over a desk comparing old demon texts with some computer printouts spread across a nearby table. Buffy cleared her throat.

"Buffy," Giles said guardedly, standing up straight and adjusting his glasses before stepping forward to greet her. "Welcome back." Xander watched the exchange in silence.

"Right. Back. That's it? That's all you have to say?" Buffy questioned.

Giles sighed. "What do you want me to say?"

"Oh, I dunno, maybe 'I'm sorry'? Or 'I shouldn't have lied to you _again_'? Or you could promise to stop interfering in my life, making decisions for me that are none of your business." Buffy paused, giving Giles a betrayed look. "You lied to me."

Giles nodded. "I did. But then so did you."

"You lied first."

Giles smiled slightly. "Does that mean I win?"

"No! You most certainly do not win. I'm the winner winning here. And you're the lying guy who has to say he's sorry and promises never to manage my personal life again."

Giles removed his glasses, rubbing his temple before continuing. "Buffy, when all of this happened - "

"You mean the lying part?"

"Yes," Giles admitted. "When I kept Spike's return a secret from you it was because he was affiliated with one of the greatest evils on this planet. From my intel, it was unclear where his loyalties stood and you had a greater need to be focused here. Leading every Slayer. Spike would have been an unwelcome distraction at best, a heartbreaking torment for you in every other scenario I could imagine. To have him return from the dead only to ally himself with evil? I wanted to spare you that pain. Again."

"Spike's not evil," Buffy countered quietly. "And it wasn't your decision to make. You had no right to just…you had no right."

"I did what I thought best at the time. I was trying to protect you."

"You can't have it both ways, Giles. Either I'm an adult with all these responsibilities or I'm a child who you get to dictate to. You can't keep me in the dark. Not anymore."

Giles coughed. "And would, uh, sending an identical twin to take over your responsibilities here while running off to Los Angeles be considered the actions of an adult or a child?"

Buffy shrugged. "Maybe I was living down to your expectations."

"Touché," Giles acknowledged.

"Plus I figured it might be fun to pull a Parent Trap on you. Make a switch, see if anybody noticed," Buffy joked.

Giles looked at her in wonder. "I thought you'd be more angry, not…"

"Oh, I've had time to process. Trust me, I was angry. Very. But I get why you did it. You were _wrong_. But I get why. You were trying to protect me." Buffy scowled. "Don't do it again. At least, not that way."

"And this would be the understanding adult perspective, yes?" Giles lowered his voice and continued sincerely, "I'm sorry. I promise never to lie to you in an unfortunate and ill-advised attempt to protect you."

"Damn straight," Buffy said, smiling. "I'm sorry I left the way I did. I could have handled things better."

"And I'm simply glad you're back."

"Strangely, me too." Buffy felt surprised at the realization.

"Yay, now the hugging part!" Willow interrupted, prompting Buffy and Giles to laugh.

They looked at each other hesitantly before moving forward to embrace. Buffy closed her eyes and remembered all the other times she'd hugged Giles. There weren't many. She could count each occasion on both hands. But each time was memorable and achingly comforting. This time was no different. She suddenly felt safe and forgiven and…home. This had been a part of what was missing here in Scotland. Giles.

"Great. Now that that's settled, I've got a lot of work to do," Xander said distantly before piling up the computer printouts and walking out the door.

"Xander!" Buffy called after him, stepping away from Giles to watch him walk away. She turned to look at Giles who shrugged then at Willow.

"I think he's still…" Willow searched for her words. "You lied to him, too, Buffy. Only he was working right alongside look-a-like Buffy Roman style. He feels…"

_  
Betrayed._ "Oh," Buffy breathed. She hadn't even thought about Xander. She'd been so consumed with anger at Giles and desperation at finding Spike that she'd never even stopped to think how her Parent Trap plan would hurt him. Xander. Her best friend who'd been by her side for over seven years. The guy who'd kept all her dirty secrets and stood by her through all the hard times of putting the Slayer Organization together. The one who'd stayed with her when Willow and Giles had disappeared. Who'd always been loyal-

Buffy looked at Giles. "Did Xander know? Was he in on it too?"

Giles shook his head. "No."

Nodding to herself, Buffy left the library and went searching for Xander throughout the house. She finally found him in the attic which they'd converted into a rougher version of their command central back at the old castle. He was alone, sitting in a chair staring at a computer screen.

"Can I come in?" Buffy asked hesitantly.

"Kinda busy here, Buff. I'll send you an update when I'm done."

"Right. Update." Buffy walked inside and stood behind Xander, leaning over his shoulder to read the computer screen. "Whatcha workin' on?"

"Research," Xander said in monotone.

"Research what?"

"Look, I don't have time for games right now. Maybe you forgot while on vacation, but we're doing important work here. So unless you're interested in helping, I could use some peace and quiet."

Buffy stared at the back of Xander's head for a minute, contemplating what to say to break through to him. He so clearly didn't want to talk. She sighed. This situation called for extreme measures. Leaning down, she hugged Xander tightly from behind, grasping her hands together as they met at the center of his chest and pushing her cheek against his back.

"Um Buffy?"

"Hmm?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm helping. This is me helping the fight against evil. It's a new strategy. What do you think?"

"They'll never see it coming." Xander's voice was rueful. "Oh and they'll win each time we try to defeat them with our Care Bear love stare." Xander paused. "Are you going to let go now?"

"Nope. You're stuck with me. Sorry, but you're just going to have to deal with me being around all the time. I'm not letting go," Buffy promised.

Xander gripped Buffy's hands firmly. "I think I could get used to that." Buffy squeezed him tighter in response, making him cough. "Okay, Slayer strength! Ease up now."

"Oops, sorry." Buffy relaxed her hold. "I am sorry, Xander."

"I know," he whispered.

Buffy gently squeezed him again and sighed, eyes watering slightly. "I love you. I wouldn't want to hurt you for anything."

"Ditto." Xander shifted in his seat. "You are going to let go eventually though, right?"

"Nope."

"Even when I go…and you know sometimes I need to…Buffy, come on…"

"No way. Learn to deal."

"Well okay, I can't counter the Slayer strength, true. My sexy eye patch can only do so much seducing of willpower. And I didn't want to do this. I swore I wouldn't take advantage of your one true weakness but…" Xander reached back behind him and started tickling Buffy's ribs, causing her to shake with giggles though she kept her grip firm. Xander eventually gave up, no match for her strength and stubbornness. "Okay, that's all I've got. You win, Slayer. I am defeated," he said in an all-important voice.

Buffy's smile pressed against Xander's cotton pullover.

"Uh Buffy? I've gotta go to the bathroom."

Buffy jumped up abruptly. "And we're done!"

Xander smirked at her over his shoulder. "I knew you were all talk."

Buffy nodded, grinning widely. "I'm equal parts talk and action. It's part of my charm." She sat down next to Xander and pulled away some of the papers he was working on. "So what's the big evil needs putting down?"

Xander scooted towards her until their shoulders touched. "Well, we've got this lead…"


	17. Chapter 17

_Los Angeles_

Angel walked into his office, shoulders forward slumped with fatigue. He poured himself a cup of coffee, took a sip and spat it out immediately. He didn't think it was possible, but Nina made even worse coffee than Cordelia. It tasted like lighter fluid. Pulling a bag of blood out of the mini-fridge, Angel poured it into a clean mug, placed it into the microwave and pressed 'start'. He tentatively sipped the coffee again, grimaced and set it down on the edge of his desk. Glancing down at the daily newspaper, he paused, except world events weren't what caught his eye. A letter lay on top of the pages, one he opened with a mild curiosity that quickly became a gripping urgency:

_Dad,_

_Don't worry. Really, don't. I just wanted to give you a heads up that I'm going on a trip. To help Spike. Really, don't worry. I'm not even there and I can tell you're worrying. I'll be back in a few days, okay? And hey, maybe I'll even bring you a present from Rome._

_- Connor_

******

_Rome_

"This the place?" Connor asked skeptically.

"Yeah." Spike warily eyed the brass numbers 34 on the wooden door.

"You're sure?" Connor looked at Spike searchingly.

"Yeah."

"You gonna knock?" Connor's voice grated on Spike's ears.

"Yeah." Oh, he was gonna knock alright. Hell, he'd break down the door. Break through all the bullshit of the past few days and get to the bottom of this. He'd make Buffy admit to some truths and then shag her stupid. That'd teach her a lesson about keeping secrets.

Connor let out a frustrated sigh and stepped forward to bang on the door.

"Hey!" Spike leapt to grab his arm only to grimace at the loud banging noise as Connor rapped away at the knocker. He glared at the boy. "Well, now you've done it."

"What? Knock on the door? Isn't that what we're here for?" Connor's voice rose in exasperation.

"I'm here to do a lot more than knock on doors, Junior Broodster." Spike shrugged. "Just wanted to get what I was gonna say in order before I…"

"Manned up?" Connor provided helpfully.

Spike growled and grabbed Connor by the scruff of the neck, pulling him in close to glare into the boy's rebellious eyes.

"Um, you two need a minute alone? Maybe you want to come back later after you've…_resolved_ whatever you're fighting about." Buffy stood in the open doorway, arms crossed over her scarlet dressing robe.

Spike dropped Connor, turning to look at Buffy sheepishly. "Buffy," Spike breathed, eyes intent as he stepped forward to meet her standing in the doorway.

"Yeah?" she drew out, eyebrows raised.

Spike raised a hand to touch her only to stop as she jerked back defensively. He gripped the doorframe instead. "Buffy, I…ah hell, I'm sorry about what happened. About everything I said and I…I…" Spike tilted his head, eyes soft. "I love you. Forgive me for being a complete ass." He gave a charming half-smile.

"You _love_ me?" Buffy's eyes were wide in disbelief.

"God yes. Love everything about you. Buffy, you're everything to me. I'd forgotten what it felt like to…" His voice gone soft and intent, he continued, "I'm never more alive than when I'm with you. I'll never be more alive than when I'm holding you. You make me a better man. You show me all I can be. And I am. With you." Spike released the doorframe to cup Buffy's cheek as she watched, entranced and disbelieving. "I know I don't deserve you. Know I'll make mistakes, probably screw things up again. But I'll never stop trying to be a better man. I'll never stop loving you." Spike paused, eyes vulnerable. "If you'll have me, Buffy. Hell, even if you won't, I'll love you til the end of the world," he vowed.

Buffy let out a shaky breath, staring at Spike dumbstruck.

"So the point of this overblown speech is to say you'll love her, no? How quaint," a deep voice mocked from inside Buffy's apartment. The Immortal stepped into Spike's line of sight, toweling his dark hair dry and patting his bare chest before tossing the towel onto the living room couch. He reached down nonchalantly to finish buttoning his black trousers. "You've come a long way to be disappointed, William. But then you must be used to this by now. Disappointment."

Spike clenched his fists at his side. "What the hell is he doing here?" he snarled, giving Buffy an accusing look.

Buffy shook her head, snapping out of her daze to step back under The Immortal's outreached arm. "He's my boyfriend."

"I prefer the term 'lover', cara mia." The Immortal looked down at Buffy fondly.

"Oh wow," Connor exclaimed.

"As much as we've enjoyed this untimely visit, I think you should be going, William. Time for you to go back to your New World. Perhaps find yourself a new woman, eh?" The Immortal squeezed Buffy's shoulder possessively.

Spike closed his eyes for a painful moment. The churning in his gut promised to lay him low. God, he'd been blind. He didn't think he could be more humiliated than before, but _this_. His face blank, he stared at Buffy and The Immortal seeing the image of Angelus and Drusilla embracing in his mind. He'd walked in on them, too. No, not again. He wasn't going to lose the woman he loved to another dark and brooding bastard. He wasn't going to lose Buffy. Not her. Spike glared at The Immortal's hand on Buffy's shoulder, grinding his teeth. He met the Italian bastard's self-important stare head-on. "No, I'm not going anywhere."

"Spike? Maybe we should go…" Connor suggested.

Spike glared at Connor dismissively before turning to look at Buffy.

"_Spike?_" Buffy said, eyes wide. "You're…" Her voice trailed off and she looked up at the Immortal with her mouth slightly open. She stepped forward again, her voice low and intimate. "Spike, I can only imagine what this looks like. What you must be thinking. But you _have_ to go now. You can't be here. You don't…" She looked back over her shoulder at the Immortal. "You don't belong here."

"Buffy, love, you can't be serious. This guy? He's…well, okay he's ambiguously evil, but still he's not good enough for you. He's wrong for you. Hell, I'd rather see you with Angel than this sodding wanker and I'd rather stake myself than see you with Angel." Spike stabbed in the Immortal's direction with his index finger then banged his fist into his chest. He caught Buffy's gaze, entreating her to understand. "Love, I know what I said…I was out of line. Completely. But don't you think this is a slight overreaction? Running back to him because we had a spat."

"Running back?" The Immortal chuckled. "She never really left."

Spike's face went blank before he looked at Buffy in confusion. "This true? Were you still with him the whole time we…? You'd always planned on coming back here?"

Buffy looked between Spike and the Immortal, mouth open wide. Dropping her gaze to floor, she whispered, "Yes. Yes, I was with him. I am with him." She sent Spike a tortured look. "I'm sorry. You should go now."

A hand gripped Spike's shoulder and he jerked reflexively, turning to see Connor giving him a sympathetic stare. "Come on, Spike," Connor urged. "Let's go."

"Yes, run along, William," The Immortal taunted as stood behind Buffy, caressing her shoulders. "You should've known better. To even think you could satisfy her the way I can." He smirked. "But you were ever the fool."

Spike flinched, eyes half shuttered as he clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles popped. He took in a deep breath before swinging wildly with his left fist, smashing into The Immortal's jaw as he pulled Buffy to the side with his right hand. "Who's foolin' now, you poncey bastard?" Spike sneered.

The Immortal buckled under the impact, falling back two steps, but quickly recovering. He rubbed his jaw bemusedly. "Violence. Is this the only way you know?"

"Whatever works." Spike rolled his shoulders and settled into a fighting stance, dancing on the tips of his toes and baring his teeth.

"So the plan is to fight over the lady, eh? The winner gets to club her over the head and drag her back to his cave?" The Immortal looked at Buffy curiously. "Do you wish to be won, bellissima? Or shall we let you choose for yourself?"

Buffy gently touched Spike's shoulder, pulling him away from The Immortal to look at her. She unclenched his fists, hesitating slightly as she touched him. "Spike," she said, shaking her head with an air of sadness. "Go. Please. Just go."

Her weary, almost pitying tone wrenched Spike's heart in his chest and he stared at her in disbelief. He searched her eyes, looking for something, anything to show that she cared about him. There was nothing to see. No connection, no…she didn't love him. She really didn't. His throat closed involuntarily at the realization and he fought to keep his eyes from watering. Bloody hell, not now. The muscles in his face struggled to keep an even expression, to stop from crumpling into an even more pathetic mask. The back of his throat burned and he felt like he'd been gutted and left hollow inside. Spike turned his head away from Buffy to stare dumbly at the wall.

Connor firmly gripped Spike's arm and pulled him back towards the open doorway. "We'll, uh, just be going now."

Spike allowed himself to be led down the hall and corralled into the elevator without comment. Lost in thoughts of Buffy's eyes looking at him with pity and her voice telling him to leave, he finally surfaced when Connor pushed a shot glass into his hand. Spike blinked and looked around the room, surprised to find themselves sitting at a table in some dimly lit bar. "Where are we?"

Connor shrugged. "Where the alcohol lives." He nodded at the shot glass in Spike's hand. "Drink up."

Spike numbly tossed back the shot and dropped the glass back onto the table. Connor grabbed the bottle of vodka and poured him another. "Should've bought whiskey," Spike grunted, lifting the glass to drink down the clear liquid.

"Sure. Next bottle we'll get whiskey," Connor agreed. He poured them both another shot then raised his glass, tipping it towards Spike. "Women," he commiserated, swallowing quickly only to cough a bit. He shot Spike a slightly embarrassed look.

"Ha." Spike smiled painfully, nodding at the bottle. "Have another. We'll get you drinking like a pro in no time."

The next shot Connor managed to swallow without coughing, though he still grimaced afterwards.

"That's better. You're making progress." Spike downed two more shots in quick succession. "See the key is to let your throat go loose, just let it slide down easy like."

Connor tried again, finally managing to swallow without coughing or grimacing. He smiled at Spike as he lowered his glass. "Heh, easy."

"You're a natural, Junior." Spike smiled proudly for a moment before his face fell again. He reached desperately for the bottle. Bypassing the glass completely, he chugged down the entire fifth of vodka in under thirty seconds. Finished, he slammed the empty bottle on the table and let his head hang low, mouth gaping wide as he panted.

"Better?"

Spike looked at Connor blearily. "No. Not even close."

"Whiskey?"

"God yes."

Three hours and a half a dozen bottles later, Spike was sufficiently numbed. The boy was a good drinking buddy, though Spike had gotten used to drinking his sorrows alone over the years. "Women," he sneered. "With their shiny, bouncy hair and…shiny…"

"Yeah, women," Connor agreed, head wobbling as he tried to nod but only succeeded in doing a convincing bobblehead impression.

Spike scoffed. "Who does she think she is? Just jerk me around like, like she's the one who gets to say when to say when?"

"When?" Connor echoed.

Spike slammed his fist on the table. "Exactly. I didn't say when, so who says she gets to, eh?"

"Gwen," Connor breathed.

"No, 'when', say 'when'," Spike corrected impatiently.

Connor thunked his forehead on to the table, moaning a bit before turning to look up at Spike's face. "Gwen. She used to talk about wanting to Europe… me. Gonna see the world. She was gonna show me…"

"Fickle, treacherous cow," Spike muttered, reaching for the half-empty bottle of whiskey.

"Huh?" Connor grunted, eyes closed.

"What's that?" Spike asked offhand before taking a long slug from the bottle.

"Huh?"

"Exactly. Pfft women." Spike stared at the bottle, eyes distant. "With their lies. And their eyes. Lying eyes. Yeah, lying eyes that lie right to your face and then stab you in the back."

"Huh?"

"Too right," Spike said, raising the bottle to quickly down the last dregs. He snorted when he heard the faint snoring sound coming from underneath Connor's shaggy head, reaching over to ruffle his hair affectionately. "Good plan. Get some peace while you can. 'Cause as long as those…_women_…are out there…" He swallowed, head weaving from left to right. "You'll never have a moment's peace. They'll torture you, use you up and spit you out." Spike's dropped his head onto his forearms resting on the table. "Oh, Buffy. Why?" he moaned.

A loud throat clearing prompted Spike to raise his head. He looked dazedly at a man with dark hair in a dapper suit. Well, it looked blurrily dapper, as far as Spike could tell. "You are a Mr. Spike, no?"

"Who's asking?" Spike slurred.

"Ah, yes. I think you are. My employer wishes to have a few words with you."

"Well, your employer can sod off. You too. Yeah, you. You go sod off."

"No, I think not, my very drunk friend." The man snapped his fingers and two large thugs stepped forward. Spike blinked, pushing himself off the table in an effort to stand. No way in hell these bastards were ruining his night of drunken drinking.

The first blow to his temple knocked him to the floor. Groaning, he sat up, shaking his head like a wet dog coming in from the rain. As the thug with bricks for fists stepped forward again, Spike glared. The second punch reverberated through his skull, making his vision go black with off-shooting swirls of red dancing across the back of his eyelids for a few moments until the red disappeared completely. Everything went black.

******

_Los Angeles_

"Angel?" Nina called, frowning when he didn't respond. She strolled past the red couch in the lobby and walked into Angel's office. The shrill beeping of the microwave drew her forward and she opened the door, pulling out a cold mug of blood. "Ugh. The man needs a maid to look after him."

Tossing her purse on his desk, Nina walked back into the lobby and turned towards the stairs. "Angel? You here?"

She frowned.

"Angel?"

******


	18. Chapter 18

Buffy curled into the window seat of the bay window of her bedroom, a blanket tucked snugly around her. She frowned in concentration at the pad of paper resting in her lap, wondering where to begin. Willow had given her a significant look and teasing reminder to catch up on her writing as she'd said goodnight earlier. That was over four hours ago and here she was staring at a blank page. The rejected versions of the letter decorated her bedroom, crumpled paper strewn about the floor. Apparently, her just saying what she was immediately feeling always ended up, in some form or another, sounding like this:

Dear Spike,

I'm sorry. I'm sorry you completely freaked for no reason. I'm sorry you wouldn't stop ranting long enough to let me explain. I'm sorry you've apparently gone insane. And seriously, where the hell do you get off? You're the one who didn't contact me for over a year. Almost, over, whatever. A really long time. And then you kick me out? Yell at me to leave? Are you _kidding_ me? So yeah, you can just go be crazy in LA, see if I care. And I don't care. Go be crazy and insane and alone.

Love,

Buffy

Yeah, it was official. She sucked. She ripped the letter off the pad of paper and crumpled into a ball, tossing it onto the floor to join the other ranty letters. Maybe she just had to get it out of her system and then she could get to the heart of it. Of her.

She sighed. This writing her innermost feelings thing used to be easier. Her diary collection had rivaled Dawn's at one time. The entries had become rarer after becoming a Slayer. And she'd stopped keeping a journal altogether when Angel had lost his soul. It'd hurt too much to look at the words, to read her sucky reality on the page. It somehow made it more real and yet surreal somehow. Like a whole new level of pain. She'd decided it was better not to think about it.

Of course, now she needed to write and she was so completely out of practice that all she was coming up with was word vomit. She pressed the pen down hard on the paper and waited for it to start moving of its own will. Like a Ouija board. The pen didn't move.

Buffy groaned, leaning back and banging her head against the wall of the bay window. She supposed she could just give up and try to go to sleep. Except she'd tried that during hour two of this adventure of writing failure and had only managed to toss and turn for thirty minutes before starting to scissor kick against the mattress in frustration.

Buffy absently brushed at the condensation collecting on the window. A light fog was beginning to swirl above the grass below. Fog, the lesser known cousin she was more familiar with – smog. She sighed. How sad was it that thinking about smog made her homesick?

One thought led to another and suddenly she was blinking back tears. She hugged herself tightly, wishing someone else's arms were hugging her instead. Or maybe her mom could run cool hands through her hair and whisper that it would be alright, that she'd always be her little girl and things would get better. The silence of her darkened bedroom made her gasping breaths sound obscenely loud and she tried to stifle the sound. She didn't want anyone to hear her. She wasn't allowed to cry or be weak and emotional. She had to be wise and strong; she had to always know the answer. How else would all the Slayers believe in her?

How else would she believe in herself?

Then the words came. Like a message she'd forgotten. A plea. An expression of gratitude. A vow. The words flowed through her and she began to write, her pen hurrying to capture them as they echoed in her mind. When she finished, she carefully folded the letter, hugging it to her chest as she closed her eyes and leaned back into the pillows piled against wall of the bay window.

******

"Buffy, wake up!"

"Hmm." Buffy shrugged off the hand shaking her shoulder and snuggled more deeply into the pillows.

"Buffy," the voice was loud and insistent. "Buffy, wake up!" And then the shaking started up again, only this time the voice stole her blanket.

"Hey!" Buffy blinked, looking up to see Willow watching her expectantly. "What time is it?" she croaked.

"Sorry, it's just we have an emergency situation here." Willow looked at her apologetically before walking towards the bedroom door. "Meet up at command central and we'll fill you in." She paused at the door to look over her shoulder. "And Buffy? Hurry."

Buffy rolled out of the window seat and stretched her arms above her head sleepily. She carefully stepped out of the blanket twisting around her feet, only to have her foot land on a piece of paper lying on the floor. The letter she'd written last night. Picking it up, she looked in the direction Willow had disappeared, thinking about the 'must-read' spell. She grabbed an envelope off the desk in her bedroom, stuffing the letter inside as she rushed to catch Willow.

Finding the hallway empty, she headed towards the stairs to the attic on the other side of the second floor. Quickly turning a corner, she came to a halt when she sighted Faith at the opposite end of the hall. Great, just what she needed. A little Faith first thing in the morning went a long way.

Unfortunately. Continuing forward at a less harried pace, Buffy met Faith in the middle of the hallway in front of the attic door.

"Faith." Buffy stared at her warily, wondering where Faith had been hiding last night. She hadn't seen her in the manor.

"B." Faith smirked as she looked at Buffy's mussed hair and matching pajamas. "Love the PJ's. Most people couldn't pull off cute little piggies. Hot pink on hotter pink – brave choice."

Buffy gave a tight smile. "Right, well, as fun as catching up has been, I've got business to take care of." She walked past Faith, opening the attic door and climbing the stairs. Faith followed, prompting Buffy to stop and stare over her shoulder. "What are you doing?"

Faith's eyes widened. "There's a group pow-wow going down. Giles sent for me."

"Right. Great." _Just great._ Buffy turned and hurried up the stairs. Xander and Giles were once again leaning over a pile of papers on the conference table while Willow and Andrew were at the computer terminals.

Giles looked up from the table. "Ah, Buffy. Good, you're awake." He nodded a greeting at Faith.

"Yes, my whole two hours of sleep was very energizing. I feel like a whole new me. Only tired." Buffy fisted her hands on her hips. "So, what's the big news? I believe Will said 'emergency'."

"Of course." Giles glanced at Xander. "We've had a bit of breakthrough. Xander's research has proven most useful and he…" Giles waved his hand at Xander to continue, who'd now taken a seat at the conference table.

"Oh no, the floor is all yours, British man. You do the talking thing. I've got this new project which I like to call Caffeination. It involves me not falling asleep with my eyes open." Xander raised the mug towards Giles before taking a large gulp.

"See this wouldn't have been a problem if we'd sprung for the espresso machine. All nighters researching with some delicious, steaming brew of caffeinated heaven," Andrew sighed. "I can still get a good deal on this Italian model – free shipping. All I need is for someone to sign off on the purchase. And to give me back my company credit card."

"No and no. We don't need you buying limited edition Babylon 5 collector's plates or a to-scale model of the Enterprise. Request for reinstatement of buying privileges denied. Again," Xander shot him down. "You're just gonna have to ask for them from Santa like everyone else."

Giles cleared his throat. "As I was saying, Xander has been following reports of missing girls. Slayers. Most were unaffiliated with our organization, inactive in the field. Their families had been reporting them missing only for them appear days later…"

"Dead." Buffy dropped her arms to her sides. "Drained."

"Yes," Giles confirmed. "The reports began to come in about a month ago, but were so infrequent that it appeared to be simply a by-product of slaying. Casualties of battle. An untrained Slayer would have less chance in fighting off a vampire's attack." Giles paused, looking away from Buffy. "Within the past two weeks, the reports of Slayers found drained, their bodies dumped, has increased. Xander sent a field agent to examine one of the victims and found bruises around her ankles and wrists. She'd been held in bondage."

"Damn," Faith muttered.

"How many?" Buffy asked grimly, eyes distant. "How many girls?"

"That we know of?" Giles met Willow's concerned gaze before turning back to Buffy. "Thirty eight. Reports from from Asia, Africa, Europe, the Americas. That we know of."

Buffy clenched her fists, unwittingly crumpling the letter in her hand. She looked down and frowned, gritting her teeth as she stuffed the letter into her pocket. "Who's behind it? We need to find out who's organizing-"

"I'm afraid there's more unpleasant news," Giles interrupted, causing Buffy to look at him warily. "Willow, would you…?"

Willow clicked away at the computer terminal's keyboard and a video feed began to play on the large monitor hanging from the wall. The quality of the video was poor, but Buffy could clearly see it was of her standing on top of a bar right before she threw a flaming liquor bottle at the vampire on stage. The newscaster's voice droned over the violent image, _"Buffy Summers is wanted by US authorities for acts of terrorism. Sources say she's believed to be the leader of a terrorist organization working to…"_ Buffy zoned out, watching the video continue to loop showing her throwing the bottle as her picture from her California Driver's License flashed on the right side of the screen. Willow paused the feed as the clip finished.

"Whoa. And I thought I knew all the best club scenes in LA." Faith eyed Buffy. "Isn't it nice to feel wanted, B?"

"Faith," Giles chided her.

Faith shrugged, turning a chair around to straddle seated next to Xander.

Buffy stared at her picture on the screen, eyes hard. "Will, can you find out where this video came from?"

"Sure, I'll just have to hack into the studio's network and –" Buffy looked at her sharply. "I'll get right on it," Willow reassured, turning back towards the computer screen.

"Okay, so while our resident Wicca is hacking away, maybe you could fill us in on the new flame attack strategy, Buff," Xander said.

Buffy crossed her arms. "There was a group in LA. Vampires and humans working together. They were setting up traps to capture Slayers. Then they'd take them to this abandoned club – " She nodded at the screen " –and give the Slayer to the crowd. Like a prize."

"A blood club," Giles added.

"Yeah," Buffy said softly.

"And if what you discovered is in any way connected to the other Slayers' deaths –"

"Oh, I _know_ it is," Buffy interrupted. "It…the bruises. The girl I helped rescue was chained up. And they were organized. Careful. I'm not surprised there's more of them." She scoffed. "A well-oiled machine. We might not have found out about it if Angel hadn't…We have to stop this, Giles."

"We will."

"Gotta know who to stop first," Faith jumped in. "We need a target. Can't kill the snake if you can't find its head."

"Buffy?" Willow looked over her shoulder. "I think I found your head. It took a little digging, some dummy servers set up to throw me off the scent, but I know where the video came from."

Buffy walked over to stand by Willow, examining the screen grimly. "Where?"

Willow hesitated before answering. "Rome."

"Roma?" Andrew asked, leaning over to look at Willow's computer screen. "Davvero incredibile!"

Buffy resisted rolling her eyes. "Will. Where exactly in Rome? You have a location?"

Faith, Xander and Giles joined Buffy in anxiously standing behind Willow as she continued typing. "Just a sec. Oh." Willow paused to look at Andrew. "Well, that makes things complicated."

"What?" Buffy's voice was tense.

"Uh, Andrew, maybe you wanna go into your brief about the Immortal," Willow suggested as she continued pulling up documents that looked like building specs.

"Ah, the Immortal. Truly a mystery among men though he himself is not a man. Or rather, more than a man. A titan among men. A living god-like being who knows no rules but those he wills. And his will is formidable. Formidabler than anyone could ever imagine. A powerful ally to the Slayer cause who…oh, well, considering recent developments, that perhaps needs to be re-examined." Andrew opened up a word document on his computer and highlighted a portion of his report. He turned to look at the group. "Where was I?"

"Get to the point, Andrew, before I teach your fingers how to bend backwards. Permanently," Buffy threatened.

"Oh, he's also Buffy decoy's boyfriend," Andrew concluded, eyes innocent.

"You're telling me the guy who's responsible for murdering Slayers has been _dating_ 'me'," Buffy gestured with air quotes angrily.

"Dating, rendezvousing, taking spontaneous trips to Monte Carlo…rogue agent," Andrew finished with a whisper.

Buffy slapped the back of Andrew's head. "Okay, new plan. Everybody mount up. We're taking this Immortal guy down. Xander, get your team ready. Willow, magical back-up and logistics on whatever defenses this guy may have." Andrew looked at Buffy expectantly. "Andrew, no talking, just help Xander. Giles?"

"I'll see what I can dig up from my contacts about the Immortal's recent activities." Giles stepped away, pulling out his cell phone as he left the attic followed by Xander and Andrew.

"Good. And that leaves…" Buffy eyed Faith suspiciously.

"Ready to rumble, as always." Faith jerked her shoulder under Buffy's watchful stare.

Buffy finally nodded. "Good. Get ready. I've got a feeling this guy won't go down without a fight." Faith nodded and left the room.

"We'll stop him, Buffy," Willow reassured, giving her best sympathetic eyes.

Buffy shook her head. "I can't believe this has all been happening right under my nose." Buffy's shoulders slumped as she sat down wearily in the chair Andrew had vacated.

"You didn't know about this. Nobody did."

"I invited this Immortal Jackass into our circle. Okay, Andrew did, but he was speaking for me. And now…" Buffy rubbed her temples. "And here I thought I was only getting girls killed sending them out to fight demons. I didn't think they'd become targets. That they'd be hunted."

"We'll _stop_ him."

"And then what? What about all those girls that are already dead? Or the Slayers who are just out there waiting to be picked off by an angry mob? We can't turn back the clock. Slayers are being hunted down and even if we kill the snake, there's still – People are working with them, Will. People. They think we're the enemy. How did we get here? When did everything get so…"

"Complicated," Willow finished. "We take it one step at a time. That's all we can do."

"Yeah, you're right." Buffy reached into her pocket and pulled out the letter. "When you're done here, could you?" Buffy laid the letter down next to the keyboard.

Willow picked up the letter, holding it carefully. "I'll make sure he gets it."

"Good. Thank you." Buffy looked down at her clothes and raised her eyebrow. "I'm gonna go change. Somehow I think storming an Italian fortress will go better if I'm not wearing my Miss Piggy pajamas."

"Probably. But you never know. Maybe the Immortal's afraid of cartoon pigs."

"Yeah, afraid. Sounds like he hasn't been afraid of anything in a long time." Buffy's eyes hardened.

"But he will be."

******


	19. Chapter 19

Careful hands rifled through his pockets and woke him. His shoulders ached, his wrists sore as they pulled against cold iron. The clink of metal opened his eyes and he saw his lighter, switchblade and lock pick dropped onto a tray in the corner of the room. Spike blinked at the assortment of blades laid out on the tray next to his confiscated possessions. His head lolled forward to get a closer look, squinting at the back of the man dressed in a dark suit and black leather shoes.

The room was square with three walls of stone and the fourth wall made of iron bars and a cell door. The man in the suit picked up a scalpel and tested the sharpness of the tip with his index finger before returning it to the tray. Spike watched him reach for the small mallet next and swing it in the air, testing its balance and weight before setting it down. The man continued to methodically test each instrument before picking up the leather case sitting at his feet. He left the room without a backwards glance, carefully locking the cell door behind him.

Spike looked up at the shackles around his wrists that led to chains bolted into the ceiling. He tightened the muscles in his arms and shoulders and jerked violently. The chains rattled and he began to swing forward only to be pulled back as metal bit into his ankles. He looked down past his bare chest to find matching shackles bolted to the stone floor. He raised his eyes towards the ceiling. "Oh, _balls_."

"Mmmphm," Connor grunted to his left, hanging from his own pair of chains in an identical pose.

Spike set himself swinging in Connor's direction, banging into the boy's shoulder. "Oy! Wake up, Junior. No time for a little shut eye."

Connor moaned. Spike gripped the chains with his hands, rocking back and forth til he gathered enough momentum to forcefully crash into Connor and send him spinning as far as the chains would allow.

"Ah!" Connor's bloodshot eyes wrenched open and he glared at Spike as he continued to spin in the air. "What the hell? Where are we?"

"Torture room."

Connor looked around the room before staring at Spike in confusion. "Why?"

"'Cause they're gonna torture us."

Connor managed to glare and roll his eyes at the same time. "But why us? And who?"

"The Immortal. Who else?" Spike shook his head in disgust. "I hate Rome. This always happens to me here." He shrugged his head dismissively. "Except that one time in the 50's."

"Oh god, kill me now."

"Not gonna be that bad, kid. I've gotten out of worse scrapes then this. Just keep your head about you and we'll be fine."

"No, really. Kill me now. I can't take this."

Spike gripped the chains and pulled himself closer to Connor. "None of that, you hear. We're gonna make it through this. And then I'm gonna rip out that rat bastard Immortal's spine and beat him with it til he begs for mercy. Not that he'll get any mercy. Just want to hear him beg."

Connor moaned in pain, eyes closed. His face began to turn green and before Spike could even think to lean back Connor wretched all over the floor in front of him. "Oh god, kill me now. My head." Connor moaned again.

"Ah, right. Guess I forgot to warn you about the morning after, eh? Got a bad hangover, I expect."

Connor glared at him through one squinted eye. "You forgot to warn me?"

Spike shrugged. "Nothing to be done about it. Just gotta man up and soldier through. It'll pass in no time…well, maybe a few hours. Though could be longer considering how much you drank. Too bad you didn't inherit your dad's vampire constitution. I feel just fine."

"I can't decide what I want more – them to kill me first or you. I think you. Yeah, definitely you." Connor gulped heavily apparently resisting the urge to vomit again. "No, me. Me first. Oh god."

"If wishes were horses…" Spike murmured. He tested the chains again, closing his eyes to concentrate before giving one great heave. The chains shook violently against the bolts in the ceiling that failed to acknowledge the pressure. Spike tried again and again without success, pulling so hard that the shackles cut into the flesh of his wrists and began to bleed. "Damn."

"This trip sucks."

Spike remembered the look in Buffy's eyes as she told him to leave last night. "Yeah," he answered, glancing at Connor hanging limply from the chains, face green, skinny chest bare and sweating.

"It pains me to hear you find my hospitality wanting, gentlemen." The Immortal stood at the cell door, waiting as his servant-torturer in the black suit opened it for him. Spike sneered as he looked at the bastard's red silk shirt and designer black trousers, his black hair perfectly coiffed and pulled back by a leather thong. Poofter.

"Knew you were evil, you rotten bastard."

The Immortal raised an eyebrow. "Good and evil. They are just words to show a different perspective. Opposite sides of a coin. I am above this. I see all sides. This epic battle for supremacy over the world – good and evil will destroy each other in the end and who will be left to rule? Me. The only one still standing."

Spike clenched his jaw. "What'd you do to her? Buffy. She's under a spell, isn't she? There's no way she'd be with you if she knew the truth. No way she could be near you and not know the truth. What the hell did you do to her?"

The Immortal chuckled. "No, no spell. At least, not of my own design. I do not abide magicks. I need no dirty tricks to have my will done. I've done nothing to her but offer my company." He raised a hand to rest across his heart. "And that is all that is needed." He then touched his temple. "That and a little persuasion. A little romance. I gave her what she most desired, the belief that she is desired and needed. That she is special to one such as me. And that is a great gift."

"Is making us listen to your douchebaggery part of the torture routine? Or is this just a bonus?" Connor snarked, his head hanging off to the side as he shakily lifted himself up by his chains.

Spike grinned, pressing his tongue up against the back of his teeth. His grin fell into a snarl when Mr. Powersuit stepped forward and punched Connor in the temple. "Leave him!" Spike looked at the Immortal. "You want me, not him. So have at it," he challenged, eyes sparking insolence.

"What makes you think I have to choose? Are you not both here?" The Immortal glanced at his servant who was examining the torture instruments behind him. "My servants have little tolerance for disrespect. They demand the proper respect be given me as their lord. But I can see you are eager for the torture to begin. This is why you have forgotten all pleasantries, no?" The Immortal stepped back to stare at Spike and Connor measuringly, arms crossed over his chest. "Start with the boy," he ordered, black eyes cool and unmoved.

Spike caught the faintest smile on the torturer's face as he stepped forward, a pair of pliers gripped in his right hand. "No! Start with me. Leave the boy out of this, you sodding bastard!"

The Immortal smiled and nodded at his servant. "No, I think not. Besides, this way I can torture you both at once."

A deep growl began to rumble deep in Spike's chest and he gripped the chains so tightly that his bones began to ache. As the silent torturer walked past Spike, Spike vamped out and leapt forward to snap his jaws, neatly missing the man's neck by an inch. The torturer barely flinched, pausing only to look at Spike before coldly continuing forward and forcing Connor's mouth open.

"Get off me!" Connor struggled and bit the man's hand, pulling his head back defiantly as the torturer gripped his jaw firmly and forced it open.

"He likes to start with the molars and work his way forward." The Immortal shrugged. "Personally, I find it all a bit gruesome, but the old ways are often best if a bit archaic."

"What do you want?" Spike snarled. "It's not enough to kill us, is it? Just get it over wi- pflah," Spike spat out the piece of paper that magically appeared in his mouth and looked down to see an envelope fall and land at his feet. "What the…?"

The Immortal snapped his fingers and the torturer released Connor immediately, stepping forward to pick up the envelope and deliver it into the Immortal's outstretched hand. Spike returned the Immortal's curious gaze then watched, riveted, as the envelope was opened and a letter pulled out. The Immortal began to smile as he read, the small curve of lips growing into a delighted grin. Finished, he refolded the letter and stepped forward to stand a few feet from Spike, holding the letter out in front of Spike's face. "It's for you," he taunted. "Don't you want to know who it's from?"

Spike swallowed roughly, eyes unable to look away from the folded piece of paper. A strange ringing began to buzz in his ears and shoot down his spine as he looked at the letter. "Give it to me," he demanded, his voice low and shaking. _Give it to me give it to me give it to me._

"Hmm." The Immortal waved the letter in front Spike's face, making Spike's eyes jerk back and forth as he followed its progress like a cat watching the birds fly outside through a window. "Oh my, this is quite a surprise," he laughed. The Immortal lifted the letter high above his head then down below his waist, Spike's gaze obediently following every turn. "Haha, normally I eschew magic. But sometimes it turns out to be very amusing. Do you want this, William?"

"Yes," Spike said hoarsely, his entire body straining forward as he stared unblinkingly at the letter.

The Immortal tapped the letter against his chin for a minute before turning and picking up Spike's lighter off the tray behind him. He lit the flame and held the letter above it. "It would be shame for you to never read this. I imagine not knowing what it says would make the last moments of your pathetic existence truly excruciating." Spike groaned as the letter was slowly lowered, the flames licking at the bottom corner and turning the paper black. The Immortal quickly closed the lighter shut and blew at the letter, shaking away the charred bits. "No, that would be too quick." He tapped the letter against Spike's cheek and Spike leaned towards the letter, mouth open. "Vampires have good vision, no? I've always wondered just how good it really is." The Immortal stepped back a few paces and laid the letter down on the ground, open and facing Spike. "Can you read that?"

Spike strained his body forward, stretching his neck as he tried to read the words on the page. "Move it closer, closer, please."

The Immortal smiled. "I think that's close enough. Alphonse?" The torturer placed the pliers back on the tray and moved quickly to open the door, stepping aside as the Immortal walked through it. "I would stay and watch you suffer, but I have a very busy schedule. You understand and will accept my apologies, won't you?"

The sound of feet climbing stairs echoed into the torture room, but Spike barely noticed. His vamped yellow eyes squinted as he tried to read the letter on the ground, his entire body fighting to get closer.

"Spike? What's wrong with you? Spike?" Connor's raised voice barely pierced the resounding drumming in his head. _Read it read it read it now now now now now NOW._

Spike began to growl like a wild animal, fighting against the shackles holding his arms prisoner. He gripped the chains, pulling himself up as his teeth began to gnaw at the metal. Finding no purchase, he began to bite his own wrists like a wolf caught in a trap, desperate to free himself even if it meant losing an arm or a leg. His fangs met the bone of his right wrist and he braced himself for the final crunch, only to notice that his hands began to slip in the shackles from the blood now covering his hands. Removing his teeth, he began to pull down hard, trying to slip his hands through the shackles' opening. He squeezed his thumbs into his palms and gave one violent pull, grunting at the flash of pain as bones fractured and he fell to the stone floor.

"Jesus, Spike. You okay? Spike?" Connor's concern buzzed in his ears, but he couldn't answer.

Spike lay on the ground panting for a moment before he crawled forward as far as the shackles on his ankles would allow, stretching to reach the letter, metal biting into his Achilles tendons. A desperate finger touched the nearest corner of paper and he pulled the letter to him, careful not to smear his blood over the words as he lifted the page with his broken hands. His eyes pored over the lines manically, barely registering their meaning as he consumed the letter. After finishing the last line, he slumped to the ground, shaking. The strange compulsion passed and he looked at the letter again, reading it slowly.

_Spike,_

_We always do this. Why do we always do this? How is it possible for us to understand each other with a look and then talk right past each other? Words. I hate words sometimes. Because words lie in ways eyes don't. Eyes can't. Or touch. Feeling doesn't lie. Hearts don't lie. Deep down. I wish – no, scratch that. No wishing. But I want so badly to be able to tell you how I feel. Because I think somehow you don't understand. Well, obviously you don't. It's probably my fault. I'm not exactly an open book, am I? I guess I forgot how to show how I feel. But I thought you knew how to read me. Maybe you forgot, too. So I'm going to try to tell you. Here we go -_

_I love knowing you're standing right beside me even without looking. I love the way you smile at me before you say hello. I love the way you say my name like it's beautiful and not silly. I love the way you look at me. I love the way you roll your eyes when you find something stupid (even when it's at me). I love your left hook – sometimes when I'm training I even try to move like you. I love it when you're being annoying. When did I start to love you being annoying? _

_I love arguing with you (because it's not really arguing). I love when you understand what I need without me saying anything. I love how you're always willing to give me what I need. I love your hands and how they fit mine. I love how my skin tingles when I'm around you. I love how I'm never bored when I'm with you. I love how alive I feel when I'm with you. I love how much I feel when I'm with you. I love your lips. I love kissing you. I love how you make me ramble like right now._

_I love how I know you, how you let me know you inside. I love how you know me, how you understand me and still love me. All of me. Somehow you always find me, the parts I don't want anyone to see. How do you see me? _

_I love how it's okay to cry in front of you. That you'll still believe in me if I cry. That I can still be strong with you while being weak. I love how when I'm with you, I'm not alone anymore. God, I think I love everything about you. Everything except that right now you don't believe in me. In us. But it's my turn to fix this, right? To fix us. _

_I love you._

_- Buffy_

_P.S. How did I do? Do you believe me now?_

Spike read the letter a third time, imagining Buffy's forehead crinkled in concentration as she wrote to him. On the fourth read he counted how many times she'd written the word 'love'. Twenty-five times. No, wait, twenty-six times.

"Spike? Spike? Spike!" Connor's yell finally caught his attention and he looked up. "You okay? Your hands. Damn, man. Your hands are busted."

Spike looked down at the mangled flesh of his wrists and the broken digits of his thumbs, grimacing before looking at the letter in his hand. He smiled through the pain as he tightly gripped the paper. "Was worth it."


	20. Chapter 20

_Rome_

"Can't believe we're doing this." Faith almost sounded disillusioned. Buffy resisted the urge to smile at the irony. "Just so we're clear, I'm not crossing that line. No matter what you want. I'm not going there."

"We're not going there," Buffy reassured through clenched teeth before sucking down a deep breath to keep from snapping back at Faith.

"We will do what we must. That's all anyone can ask of us," Giles added.

"We're _not_ going there," Buffy repeated, shooting Giles a reproachful look. She waited till he dropped his gaze in acknowledgment before turning to look at Willow clutching a small bag closed at the top with a drawstring. Her eyes rose to meet Willow's gaze and she nodded. "You ready?"

Willow's smile wobbled. "I think so. Not sure it's gonna work though. It'd be nice if we had a Plan B just in case…"

Kennedy cracked her knuckles loudly before smacking her fist into her open palm. "I've got my Plan B right here."

"Everyone follow my lead," Buffy ordered. "Faith?"

Faith stepped next to Buffy, shoulder to shoulder. "Ready."

Buffy reached up and touched her ear piece. "Xander?"

_"You're a go. All clear on the street. Wiccans say the illusion is holding. Nobody's seeing you coming or going. You've got an hour tops." _Buffy noted Willow leaning in closer to hear Xander's voice coming in through her earpiece.

"Then we'll make it count." All business, Buffy stepped forward and rapped on the door, listening intently at the soft pad of footsteps. She shot Faith a dark look. "Try not to enjoy this too much."

"Who? Me?" Faith asked as the door swung open, her hand immediately dropping from its faux-offended position on her chest into a clenched fist aimed at Buffy's jaw. The _other_ Buffy. The decoy crumpled to the floor, gasping, only to be jerked upright as Faith and Kennedy dragged her back into her apartment. Buffy calmly stepped inside, Willow and Giles behind her.

"Close the door," Buffy ordered, her eyes never leaving her double as the girl fought against being tied to a heavy wooden chair liberated from the dining room.

"What's going on?" the decoy panted, her gaze whipping from Faith and Kennedy as they secured the rope around her wrists and ankles before rising to question Giles and then Buffy. "What…what are you doing?"

"We're here for answers, traitor, so you better spill or…" Buffy tensed, ready to jump forward as Kennedy raised her fist to follow through on the threat, but Faith beat her to it, grabbing Kennedy by the shoulder and spinning her back two paces.

"Settle down, hot stuff. We're just gettin' started." Faith firmly maneuvered Kennedy behind her, staring at Buffy before glancing at the decoy. Faith's mouth hung open slightly. "Damn. She even does that annoying thing with her mouth just like you, B. Wicked strange."

Buffy watched Willow spreading her magical supplies on the coffee table in the living room next to the chair where her double sat, tied down, shaking her head in disbelief. Was it an act? Was she really that good at playing shocked and innocent? Giles leaned against the wall in the corner of the room, watching without comment.

"Buffy, please. I don't understand. Please," her double entreated. Her clear green eyes pleaded and begged, making Buffy's gut twist inside. Buffy clamped down on her emotions, her face remote as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Willow?" Buffy fought to keep her voice neutral as her chest tightened. Her clenched fists dug into her ribs, the squeezing pressure the only movement she betrayed as she stood stock still, waiting.

"Give me a minute," Willow muttered.

"Please, talk to me. Tell me what's going on. Why? What are you going to do to me?" Her double's voice shook and Buffy swore the girl's eyes were on the verge of tearing up.

"You're going to talk. Confess every sordid detail. Tell us everything you know about the Immortal. And once we're through, then we'll decide what's to be done with you," Giles grimly pronounced.

"The Immortal?" The decoy continued to shake her head, her denial constant. "I don't understand. I've been here. With him. We go out, we stay in." Buffy locked eyes with her double. "I pretend to be you, right? That's my job." The decoy dropped her gaze to the floor. "That's my job," she repeated.

"Your job is to protect people. We're supposed to protect each other. Slayers are _dead_ because of you, you twisted bitch," Kennedy spat over Faith's shoulder.

"No, I...Buffy, please…I didn't…I don't…"

"Willow." Buffy turned her head away to stare at a spot on the wall behind her double, her gaze blurring.

"Got it!" Willow crowed, turning to grin at Buffy as she rose from her crouch at the coffee table. Willow tossed a faint misty powder on the decoy's head and clapped her hands, ordering, "Verita vedere."

"What did you do to me?" The decoy sputtered, shaking her head to dislodge the bits of dust covering her face.

Buffy sighed, her shoulders relaxing as she walked forward to stand in front of her double. "Truth spell. We see each other clearly now. No lies between us. Tell me about the Immortal. Tell me how you helped him. Tell me why."

"Helped him? Do what? We date. We go dancing. We go out to eat. He took me to the opera once. I kinda liked it." The decoy let out a strangled sob. "You already know this. Andrew gets reports. I tell him everything." She hesitated. "Almost everything."

"Almost? What did you leave out?"

The decoy blushed. "It's private."

"Not anymore. Answer me," Buffy demanded.

"I don't…I don't want…"

"What you want doesn't matter. Tell me what I need to know."

"I don't…I don't tell him about when we have sex," the decoy whispered, blinking back tears. "I don't tell Andrew about how I feel. How I…how I lo-…_please stop. _"

"Willow, is it working?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah, I can feel it. It's working."

Buffy closed her eyes and turned her back to her decoy, glancing at Giles in the corner and shaking her head. Giles strode forward, stepping in front of Buffy as he pulled a folder from underneath his jacket.

Buffy watched out of the corner of her eye as Giles shoved a photograph in her decoy's face. "You don't know Amy Walters? Her body was found in a dumpster in Minneapolis." He let the photo drop to the floor, only to pull out another. "Or Kayla O'Connor. Her body washed up near Bath. The tourists were said to have run away screaming at the sight of her corpse." Another photo. "What about Lena?" Then another. "Or Rachel?" And another. "Or Kaia?"

The decoy shook her head numbly, staring at the photos of the girls now lying on the floor. "No. I don't know these girls. Please, you have to believe me."

"You're lying," Kennedy accused.

"No, she's not," Buffy countered quietly. "Giles?" She gestured with a nod for him to step back before walking around him to untie her double. Finished with the right pair of knots, she reached across to untie the left and found that Faith had already completed the task.

Standing back to give her double some space, she felt Faith breathe into her ear, "We all done with the torture now?"

Buffy flinched. "It wasn't torture," she said in a low voice, glancing guiltily over her shoulder at her double.

"Sure felt like it. And I should know."

"It was the only way to be sure she was telling the truth. We didn't have time to-"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever it takes, right? Good to know our side isn't afraid to get their hands dirty. We got the job done. Go team," Faith mocked grimly.

"Do you believe me now?" Buffy turned to see her double hugging herself, sitting immobile in the chair. She looked fragile. Broken.

"Yeah, I believe you. We believe you." Buffy shook off her doubts and straightened her spine, hands fisted on her hips. She needed to focus now more than ever. There would be time for regrets later. "You didn't know the Immortal was out killing Slayers."

The decoy shook her head. "It's gotta be a mistake. He wouldn't…he couldn't…"

"It's not a mistake," Buffy maintained, her voice hard. "We know he's responsible. We just weren't sure about you. Until now. And now that we know, I have one question for you. Are you going to help us stop your boyfriend from murdering innocent girls or not?"

The decoy didn't answer, just kept shaking her head. She avoided Buffy's challenging stare, dropping her gaze to the floor that was covered with pictures of dead girls. She reached down and swept them into a neat pile, shuffling them carefully and lifting them to rest in her lap. Her hands folded over the photos protectively, covering the face of a girl with short brown hair and a broken body. She let out a deep, rasping breath. "He did this?" she asked numbly, looking down at the photos. "You're sure he did this?"

"Yes," Buffy said simply.

Green eyes met hazel. "I'll help you. I'll help you stop him."

******

Buffy pulled at the hem of skirt as she waited for admittance into the Immortal's palazzo. The guard at the gate had shown no surprise at her arrival, merely waved her forward as she drove up to the main doors of the estate. Now she stood at the front door, a smile plastered on her face.

_"Wear this. It was a gift. An invitation. He told me I'd always be welcome as long as I wore his ring." _

The decoy's ring felt heavy on her right middle finger, the insignia carved into the sides shaped like a cross with a loop at one end. She'd seen the symbol before in one Giles' books. Immortality. This guy was just asking for a beat down. In contrast to the weight on her finger, her dress was the merest wisp of red satin, leaving her back exposed to the warm night air. Her hair fell down in soft waves, her heels propped up high on stilettos. Not her first choice for slaying. At least, not her first choice since she turned eighteen. Then again, nobody said undercover work was easy.

"_The palace is a mystical fortress. No getting in or out without the Immortal's say-so." _

Willow was right. Except it didn't feel like a fortress as Buffy waited for the door to open. More like a prison. A beautiful prison with a snake living at its heart. She shivered as a cool breeze brushed against the base of her spine. The door opened and a man in a suit bowed and gestured for her to enter. As she crossed the threshold, she felt her ears pop like when the cabin pressure in an airplane shifts dramatically. The magical barrier – looks like she'd passed the first test. The butler smiled and she noticed his tongue was slightly forked at the tip. Not so human after all.

"Welcome, signorina. My master will be pleased at your visit." He led her to a drawing room to the right of the foyer, opening the double doors and standing to side as she walked past him. "May I offer you refreshment while you await the Immortal?"

Buffy smiled brightly. "No, thank you." As soon as the doors closed, Buffy rushed across the room, opening the other door that led to a darkened sitting room. She stalked through the darkness, the light drifting in from the windows all she needed to see the obstacles of furniture to be avoided.

_"I can't break in without a magical foothold from the inside. Put two crystals at the front corners of the building and one in the center." _

Reaching inside the cleavage of her dress, she pulled out a tiny velvet bag. How cliché, but it wasn't like she had any other place to hide it. She hadn't even been able to hide a stake on her. Not to worry. She'd improvise if things got ugly. Shaking open the bag, she poured a small, translucent crystal into her palm and dropped it in the corner of the sitting room. Not exactly the corner of the building but it would have to do. Loping back to the drawing room, she closed the door behind her and strode towards the double doors leading to the foyer. Her hand reached for the door knob just as it started to turn on its own, shocking her into jumping back. Shit. She hadn't dropped off the crystal on the other side of the building yet.

"Signorina, if you will follow me, per favore."

Buffy nodded her assent, clutching the velvet bag with the two remaining crystals behind her back as she followed the not-so-human butler into the foyer and back. Certain the butler wasn't looking, she palmed another crystal in her right hand before stuffing the velvet back into the cleavage of her dress. With each step, Buffy counted the seconds it would take her to get back to the front in order to place the final crystal in its corner. She'd hoped to have both corner crystals in place before being brought into the Immortal's inner sanctum which her decoy had conveniently shared as situated in the center of the palazzo. Need to improvise – check. She'd just have to do things backwards. No worries.

The butler paused at another set of double doors before swinging them both open grandly and announcing, "Miss Buffy Summers to see il Signore Immortale."

Buffy gulped, her stomach jumping as she stepped past the butler to enter the long reception room. The room was rectangular, stretching so far out before her that each step forward began to feel like walking the green mile. She remembered the blueprints Willow had shown her of the palace – that it was shaped like an 'H'. This reception room must be the center of the 'H', with long windows draped in velvet curtains spanning both walls, candlelight fixtures mounted in between each window set and multiple lit chandeliers hanging along the center of the room. Decadence personified and draped in rich reds and purples and blues with gold accents. Yet subdued and Old World at the same time.

"Normally you are more eager to meet me, amore mio." There. He stood at the opposite end of the room, his back to her as he poured a glass of wine from the side bar flanking the throne behind him. Throne? Oh my god. But it did look like a throne. It wasn't just a chair to hang out in. The room was designed to intimidate and it was designed well. But Slayers weren't the jumpy sort. Her hands hung steady at her sides as she continued to walk towards him, putting a seductive swing to her hips when she smiled a greeting.

"Aren't you happy to see me?" Perfect. Throaty, flirty, confident.

He turned towards her and she caught her first glimpse of his face, stopping dead in her tracks. She was used to handsome men. Angel, Spike, Riley – all hotties. She liked to think she had good taste. But this guy in his black silk shirt partially open at the neck and black trousers perfectly tailored to fall with the long lines of his legs – this guy wasn't a hottie. Or pretty. Or handsome. Those words were all lukewarm descriptions, each one almost accurate but not enough. He was beautiful. Perfect. Men weren't supposed to look like him. If they were that pretty, they weren't supposed to also be strong. If they looked that beautiful, they shouldn't also breathe out animal magnetism. How were women supposed to resist?

But of course, they wouldn't resist. That was the point. Her smile widened to hide the gnashing of molars in the back of her mouth. Money, influence, looks and immortality – of course, the guy was evil. Evil and smiling at her. He raised his glass in her direction as she stopped a few feet from him.

"I'm always happy to see you, bellissima."

"Me too," a feminine voice added from behind before a violent shock struck the base of her spine, cold metal on bare skin and a shooting electricity that spasmed through her muscles until she fell shaking to the floor. Buffy's eyes closed as her body curled in on itself, her muscles continuing to shake. A second surge of voltage raced through her body accompanied by a throaty laugh.

"Enough, Christy," the Immortal chided.

"But it's fun," Christy whined.

Buffy coughed, rolling on to her back to look up at Christy grinning above her and holding a cattle prod. Her body still jerking out of control, she forced herself up on to her elbows and glared. Another few seconds of desperate will power and she had her feet planted and ready to stand. Not that she got any further.

A quick blow to the temple sent Buffy flying nose first into the floor. Two violent kicks to her ribs forced the air out of her lungs and she gasped, her eyes tearing up. A pair of black boots walked around to stand in front of her and she opened her eyes to see a grinning face covered in piercings and topped with a pink mohawk.

"Nuh uh. No getting up, Slayer General," Simone taunted. "You just lie back and take it."

"Yeah, take it," Christy laughed, jumping forward to shock Buffy again with the cattle prod. Buffy's vision blacked out for a few seconds, her tongue hanging like dead weight in her mouth as her body continued to jump spastically against the lush carpet running down the center of the polished wood floors. It didn't even hurt anymore. Everything in her body was outside her control now. Even the ability to recognize pain.

She could hear the Immortal chastising somewhere in the distance and his smug voice lit a rage inside her. This bastard wasn't going to win. Get up. Time to improvise. Now. Plant the crystal in the room and then get back to the front. Then the cavalry would arrive. Oh god, where was the crystal? Her right hand felt empty and numb. She'd dropped it. Dropped it in here, in the center. Good. One more to go.

_"Once the last crystal is in place, I'll know. Then we'll come a-running." _

"Yo…you're…pathe…thetic…" Her voice shook, no louder than a whisper.

The Immortal answered with a low chuckle. "I do admire your spirit, Slayer. If only you weren't so easily corrupted. You have been quite the dark horse this past year. Upsetting the balance. Destroying your own moral center. What option have you left us but to remove you from power? You're far too unpredictable to be left in play. Not that I expect you to understand." He shrugged. "You'll be replaced and the world will forget you. Such is the way of things for mortals. Memory is short even within a single lifetime. But have no fear, Buffy Summers, your name will be remembered. Long after you are forgotten, the illusion of you will live on."

"God, you…really…love the sound… of your own voice…don't you?"

"What's not to love?" The Immortal crouched down, cupping Buffy's chin as he examined her face. "Your time has passed. Where once you inspired great loyalty now you only breed betrayal. You have become impure. Unworthy. The sun will set on your day, Slayer, and rise for another."

"Sure…" She gritted her teeth as she tried to pull herself out of his grasp. "…and whoever replaces me will _end _you."

The Immortal smiled and leaned in to whisper, "No, she won't." Letting go of her chin, he held his hand out behind him, inviting a figure to walk out from the shadows.

"No," Buffy breathed.

The decoy walked towards the pair and ran her hand along the Immortal's shoulder, caressing him before turning to meet Buffy's disbelieving eyes.

"Why?" Buffy asked.

"_Why? _What did you expect?" The decoy sneered. "You don't even know my _name. _"

******


	21. Chapter 21

"You arrived quickly," the Immortal observed. "You had no trouble slipping away? You were not followed?"

The decoy shrugged. "Her people are used to ignoring me." She pursed her lips, shooting Buffy a glance out of the corner of her eye. "I'm not the real deal to them."

The Immortal released Buffy's chin, ignoring her grunt when her head smashed against the floor. He rose and turned to face the decoy. Buffy's eyes drifted closed and she struggled to keep them open, squinting up at the dark figure of the Immortal. She watched him raise an elegant hand to cup the decoy's cheek, examining the bruise made from Faith's fist, musing, "You're hurt. They hurt you."

"I'm fine," the decoy dismissed his concern.

"They hurt you and you come to me," he continued.

"I belong here," the decoy breathed.

Buffy grimaced at the sound of her breathless vow. Was it too much to ask that they knock her unconscious so she didn't have to hear the supervillains macking? She'd wait it out. The tremors running through her body were lessening. Her strength would return soon. She could wait it out.

"Do you? Truly?" The Immortal sounded skeptical.

"You know I do," the decoy whispered. "You're the only one who cares. The only one who knows-"

The Immortal moved his thumb to touch the decoy's lips, quieting her, rubbing back and forth along her lower lip. "Tell me where they are. Nearby, yes? They must be very close. How many? Who has she brought? The witch?"

The decoy nodded. "They're waiting at the southwest gate. The witch, a few dozen slayers and some watchers. How are you gonna stop them? Willow's powerful and-"

The Immortal's grasp tightened around the decoy's jaw, cutting her off. "You gave _her_ my ring. That was meant only for you."

"I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Can we kill her now?" Christy interrupted, almost twirling the cattle prod like a cheerleader's baton in unrestrained excitement.

The Immortal's shoulders stiffened, almost imperceptibly, but Buffy was watching his every move. All she could do was watch and wait. He turned his head to stare at Christy over his shoulder, face remote, eyes cold.

"Well, when are we gonna kill her? What are we waiting for? C'mon, she's just lying there waiting for it. She's practically begging us. Hello!"

Without blinking, the Immortal raised an eyebrow and said, "Simone, silence her."

Buffy watched the candlelight glint off Simone's lip piercing as she grinned and stepped forward, her fist crashing into Christy's jaw, crunching bone and flesh in the span of less than a second. Christy's frightened shriek ended in a muffled gurgling when she landed face first on the runner carpet, spitting blood onto the deep red fibers.

"I think I broke her jaw," Simone chuckled. "Oops."

"Does that upset you?" The Immortal asked, staring at the decoy, ignoring Simone's gloating and Christy's moaning. "Do you feel it was wrong to strike her?"

"No," the decoy shook her head. "I…I don't know how I feel. I'm working on it."

"You're working on it? Get with the program, prom queen. Time to play catch-up," Simone said, cracking her knuckles. She stalked forward, arms crossed over her chest, chin jutted out. "Maybe you're never gonna be ready. Can't cut it."

"Can't cut it?" the decoy asked. "_It?_"

"Yeah," Simone sneered, leaning in to stare intensely at the decoy, challenging. "I think you're too weak to get the job done. If we need anyone to go clubbing or do some fancy shopping, I bet you're the girl to call. But we're talking about being king of the mountain here. You just ain't got it. _Weak_."

The decoy was the first to drop her gaze and Simone grinned in triumph. The grin didn't last long as the decoy backhanded her across her mouth with one hand while lunging forward to pull free the knife sheathed at Simone's belt. Simone fell backwards, tripping over the decoy's turned foot placed strategically behind her heel. Standing over Simone, the decoy brandished the blade, her body shaking with an erratic, violent energy. "Who's weak now?" she snarled, her jaw twitching.

Buffy rolled on her side to face the decoy. "You're not weak…" she struggled to speak, gritting her teeth. "You're insane."

The decoy laughed a strident trilling noise that faded into a sigh, her head bobbing. "Insane?"

"_Psycho._"

The decoy strolled forward to stand over Buffy, lip curling. "That's rich coming from you. I am what you made me." Her mouth hung open, her face blank in expression while her eyes jerked back and forth. She turned the blade around to point at her own chest, her voice breaking, "Look Ma, aren't you proud?"

Recovering from her fall, Simone jumped to her feet and lunged at the decoy's back. The Immortal gripped her shoulder and whipped her around to face him, shaking his head. Simone relaxed her fighting stance, unclenching her fists and turning to watch the two Slayers while standing at the Immortal's side.

Counting each step the decoy took towards her, Buffy gathered her strength, waiting. She kicked out at the decoy's knee, hoping to drop her to ground and wrestle away the knife. That was step one. Then she'd toss the decoy into Simone and run for the front room. Her kick weakly bounced off the decoy's leg, barely shaking her. The decoy laughed and dropped her knees to land on Buffy's shoulders, knocking the air out of Buffy's chest and pinning her arms to her side. The knife at Buffy's throat stopped her from struggling.

"Who's weak now?" the decoy whispered, her gaze piercing Buffy with an unhinged intensity.

Buffy swallowed, grimacing at the blade cutting into her throat. She felt a trickle of moisture run down the side of her neck. Sweat or blood? The knife pressed down harder against her larynx. Blood. Now what? Get her more angry? Push her over the edge? Or wait for her to finish it slowly? Screw waiting, she decided. "You are." Buffy glared. "Liar."

"Aw, I thought that's what you wanted. A liar. Right? And I tried so hard for you. Do you know how many hours a day I spent thinking about you? Thinking 'what would Buffy do?' Or 'what would Buffy say?' Telling myself that my name yours. Forcing my mind to blank on memories that were real. Mine. I watched videos of you. How you spoke. What you wore. How you moved. I recreated your life in my mind until I could almost believe it was mine. I pushed everything that was real deep down until I couldn't touch it anymore." The decoy ran the blade across Buffy's throat. "One day I woke up and I couldn't remember what my mother's face looked like. Or the sound of her voice. All I could see was your mom – Joyce."

Buffy closed her eyes at her mother's name. She wasn't sure if the pain her chest was from the broken ribs or the ache that always surged through her whenever she thought about her mom. She resisted the urge to swallow against the sharp edge of the blade and instead opened her eyes. Returning her stare with hawkish intensity, the decoy reached down into the front of Buffy's dress and pulled out the velvet bag holding the last crystal, gripping it in her fist. Buffy's eyes widened in response, but she remained silent.

"I gave you everything I had until there was nothing left. And then you…" The decoy reached up to brush her fist against her bruised cheek. "Would you have killed me if you had to? Tortured me? I bet you would have. You'd probably think I deserved it, right? I would have done anything for you. Anything. But now I see you're not _worth_ it." Placing the velvet bag in her pocket, the decoy leaned back and raised the knife from Buffy's neck, gripping it tightly, her arm tensing for the downward plunge. "You were supposed to be the hero," the decoy whispered sadly, her eyes wet with tears.

Buffy flinched when the knife jerked down, then stopped mid-air. The Immortal gripped the decoy's wrist, holding her still, whispering, "Shhh, not yet. It isn't time."

The decoy nodded numbly, staring past the Immortal with eyes blank. "Right. Time. There isn't enough time." Her gaze refocused and her head jerked to stare at the Immortal, her voice now urgent. "They're coming. How can we stop them? Willow is too powerful."

"You worry without reason. I have not forgotten the witch. Her power will be weakened inside these walls. The sooner she enters, the sooner her end comes. She is the one who will be forgotten." The Immortal gave a small smile.

"Forgotten…you mean…?" The decoy paused, waiting for the Immortal's nod before continuing. "Oh. Good. That's good. Nothing to worry about then, is there? Everything's under control."

The Immortal lifted the knife from the decoy's grasp and handed it over his shoulder to Simone. The decoy's hand went limp under his firm touch. He rubbed her shoulder, encouraging her to breathe more deeply. Buffy lay beneath them, ignored, forced to watch. "There is nothing to worry you, mi amor."

The decoy nodded and allowed the Immortal to help her stand, stepping away from Buffy lying on the floor. Buffy reached up and touched her throat before lifting a weak hand to see it covered in blood. Close. Too close. Turning her head, she looked at Christy lying unconscious a few feet away from her, still bleeding into the red carpet. A wave of dizziness swept through Buffy and she closed her eyes to stop the room from spinning. The sound of footsteps approaching prompted her to squint at two men, probably demons, who lifted Christy and carried her out of the room.

"Simone, see that Buffy is taken down below and secured," the Immortal directed. "No, mi amor, stay here."

The decoy shook her head and bent down to retrieve the cattle prod Christy had dropped. "She's a Slayer. Simone and your servants won't be enough." The decoy glared at Simone who opened her mouth to protest. "Two Slayers against one. Better odds. You need me to do this. I need to do this. I need to see her behind bars," she finished quietly.

The Immortal stared silently before nodding his agreement.

Simone and the decoy hauled Buffy to her feet and dragged her forward, each with an iron grasp on her arms. "Get a move on, you waste of space," Simone taunted.

Buffy groaned quietly, her head lolling forward to stare down at the carpet. She didn't have the strength to lift her head even thought burned underneath the press of her chin. The decoy was silent, her hand clenching Buffy's arm in a punishing hold. They passed through a labyrinth of halls, Simone leading the way with a nod to the left or the right. A large demon with glowing red eyes dressed in black unlocked a heavy oak door, revealing a dark stone stairwell leading down below. The demon handed Simone a key and stepped aside to let them pass, closing the door behind them. The faint light from the torches mounted on the walls allowed them to barely see the steps in front of them. Buffy's toes scrapped against stone as her feet were dragged down behind her in the open-toed stiletto heels.

"Hold her, I'm losing my grip," the decoy ordered, pulling Buffy down out and to the side as she raised the cattle prod and tried to jab it into Simone's side.

Simone caught the decoy's wrist and growled, "He told me to watch you."

The decoy dropped Buffy's arm and punched Simone with her right fist while they struggled over the cattle prod, each trying to push it away from them. Buffy slammed down on the steps and fell forward, tripping the decoy and Simone, forcing them to tumble down the stairs. She heard grunting and cursing and the slap of punches at the base of the stairs. Crawling down the stairs on her stomach, her bare elbows and knees scraping against stone, Buffy hurried down the stairs. At the bottom step she saw Simone struggle to her feet, the bloody knife that had cut Buffy now in her hand. The decoy lay on her stomach at Simone's feet, a huge gash bleeding on her forehead.

"I knew you couldn't cut it, bitch," Simone sneered, kicking the decoy in the ribs as she tried to stand.

Buffy crawled forward onto the dirty floor and felt the brush of metal against her hand. The cattle prod. Fumbling for the switch, she turned it to high voltage and lunged at Simone, hitting her in the ankle before the blade plunged into the decoy's back. Simone shuddered and fell to her knees, giving Buffy a bigger target as she stabbed the cattle prod into Simone's side, keeping up the high current until Simone slumped to the ground, unconscious.

The decoy rolled to her knees, gasping, "Is she dead?"

"No. It takes more to kill a Slayer," Buffy said, rolling onto her back in exhaustion.

The decoy rose to her feet and stumbled over to Buffy, yelping in shock when Buffy kicked her legs out from her. One second later, Buffy was on top of the decoy and had her throat in a chokehold, her arms shaking with the effort of using all her strength.

"What the hell kind of game are you playing?" Buffy snapped. The decoy groaned incoherently, unable to answer. Buffy relaxed her grip and transferred her hands to holding the decoy's shoulders down on the ground.

"I'm helping you. I had to…" The decoy coughed and rubbed her neck. "I had to make him believe I was against you. So he wouldn't suspect me."

"So you're on my side? Can you even tell what side you're on anymore?"

"Yeah, I think so." The decoy shot Buffy a questioning look. "Can you?"

"Funny. My bloody neck doesn't make me think I should start braiding a friendship bracelet," Buffy gritted out. Shaking her head, she continued, "Why change the plan? Everything was going fine until you blew your cover."

"My cover was already blown. We realized just as you'd passed into the estate's boundaries. Willow tried to contact you, but the mystical wards kept her out. She teleported me to the back entrance and I called him to be let inside. He already knew it was you coming and not me."

"How? How do you know?"

"At first, I wasn't sure. But when I called he knew."

"You risked my life because you had a hunch? Are you kidding me?"

"It was more than hunch. We knew he'd stepped up his game. Your friend showed up looking for his son and-"

"Who?"

"Uh, tall, dark-haired. His name…I can't remember, but it's kinda girly and his hair sticks-"

"Angel?"

"Yeah. Angel was looking for his son and said that he'd been kidnapped by the Immortal and was inside the palazzo. I'd already been trying to figure out how the Immortal could have tricked all of us while I was supposed to be fooling him. Then I realized he knew all along. Things he'd say. The way he'd look at me. And her –" The decoy nodded at Simone. "I'd seen her before leaving here, we passed in the hallway. I didn't think anything of it. Didn't connect her to the face on the news, but she's the one who-"

"Commandeered an island. Kicked all the residents out." Buffy leaned back, letting go of the decoy's shoulders. "And if the Immortal is so connected in Italy, he'd maybe have a way to keep the government out of it. Cover it up."

"The Immortal _is_ the government in Italy. They call it a democratic republic, but it's all for show. The Immortal runs this country. Everything. He has for centuries."

Buffy struggled to her knees, bracing herself as she tried to stand, watching in envy as the decoy effortlessly rose to her feet. Apparently the decoy's Slayer healing was working better than Buffy's at the moment.

"Can you walk?" the decoy asked, leaning down to grab Simone by the ankles and drag her into the nearest cell. Buffy heard the clink of chains and assumed the punk Slayer wouldn't be causing trouble anytime soon.

"Yeah," Buffy grunted, eyeing the decoy as she stepped back into the hallway, a pair of iron keys twirling on the girl's finger. "Hey, you're going the wrong way! We have to stop the Immortal!" she called after the decoy when the girl walked deeper into the dungeons and away from the stairs.

"We've gotta rescue Spike and Angel's son first," the decoy answered over her shoulder.

"_Spike?_" Buffy gasped, pushing herself up with one hand on the stone wall. She grimaced at the shooting pain in her ribs when she hurried after the decoy, limping into the shadows.

******


	22. Chapter 22

"Grrrrrrrrhhhhh!" Spike roared, lunging forward to reach the table covered with tools in the corner. He grimaced at the shackles cutting into his ankles and slumped in defeat, forehead resting against the dirt-covered stone floor.

Connor snorted behind him. "I know you can't go without a smoke when you're stressed, but damn. Let it go. You're not getting that lighter."

Spike shot him a look of disgust. "My lock pick is up there." He looked at the shackles at his feet. "Thought it might be useful, what with us being all _locked_ up. Why? You got any bright ideas, Hangover Boy?"

"Might as well go for the lighter while you're at it. Be less disappointed when you fail. Epicly." Connor slashed his hand to emphasize his mocking point. The gesture's effectiveness was diminished by the iron shackle restricting his range of movement.

Spike sympathized with his predicament being a hand-talker himself – sort of. Still, the boy needed to stop ragging him. Lying here doing nothing? Not gonna happen.

Shaking his head, Connor continued, "It's too far away. You've been at this for hours and guess what? Fail. Every time. And I'm getting tired of hearing you grunt in pain each time you try. 'Cause sometimes…well, okay, it sounds like you kinda like it. Just saying…"

Spike scowled, turning around to silence Connor with the full brunt of his glare. "Giving up's not an option. Don't know what other dimwitted ideas Dear Old Dad's been teaching you, but wallowing in self-pity? Useless." His voice turned earnest, "Buffy's in trouble. The fuckin' Immortal knows she sent me that letter. Which means it's about to get ugly. Which means I'm gonna be in the thick of it, not chained up in that wanker's basement twiddling my busted thumbs. So a little less criticism from the peanut gallery, yeah?"

Rolling his eyes, Connor nodded his assent. Reluctantly, sure, but it was better than nothing.

Spike took that to mean 'Yeah, whatever. Do what you want. Ain't no skin off my bleeding ankles.' Which was fine with Spike. Back to business. Turning around, he bunched the muscles in his arms, preparing to lunge for the table that was barely a foot outside of his reach.

"Hey, you hear that?" Connor said.

Spike froze, listening. Footsteps. Damn. He glanced at the table beyond his reach, then the shackles around his ankles and the empty shackles hanging from the ceiling. Standing, he jumped up, gripping the chains with his bloodied hands, hiding his wrists behind the cuffs. Maybe whoever was coming wouldn't notice he'd gotten free. Well, halfway free.

If he'd needed to breathe, he would have forgotten how at the sight of her. Blonde hair falling to her shoulders, white blouse opening to a V above breasts, dark blue slacks hugging the curves of her hips, dainty feet in black boots and that smile – what wouldn't he do for that smile? God, she was too good to be true. He thought so before he even noticed the key in her hand. She was savior, warrior, lover. Inspiration. Life. Everything. She was a vision of loveliness. He was without words, struck dumb by her strength and beauty. Perfection from her toes to the tips of her fingers.

"Don't worry, guys. You'll be out of here in no time," Buffy reassured.

"Awesome," Connor breathed.

The words from her letter flashed through his mind at the click of the key turning in the cell door's lock. What to say to her? What could he possibly say to her that would be good enough? He didn't deserve her. His words weren't enough. Preoccupied with the idea of playing off some other famous poet's words as his own – could he pull it off? which poem would be best? – he quickly dismissed it as beneath him, then blinked in shock when another figure trudged into his line of sight.

This blonde was a far cry from perfect. Red dress ripped, knees and elbows skinned bloody raw and covered in dirt, hair tangled and wild. She stumbled forward, one foot propped up on an impossibly high stiletto heel while the other scraped against the floor, naked. Head slumped down, she raised a wavering hand to push the hair out of her face and gave him a tired smile. "Spike," she whispered, though he wasn't even sure she'd said the words aloud. All he saw were her lips moving and her eyes; they'd seared him, made the world go still and then jumpstart into a surreal explosion of inner sensation. Buffy? How?

He watched her slump wearily to her knees, grimacing before touching her neck and pulling away a bloody hand. Then she was in front of him, the other Buffy, and reaching for the shackles that were pretending to keep him restrained. Her scent assaulted him, telling him it was her. He looked at her, the curve of her cheek, the graceful flow of her neck, the swirl of her inner ear, the sweet pointed tip of her nose. Buffy. Every inch of her was Buffy. Then he looked into her eyes. Nothing. She seemed mildly affectionate and pleasant tempered from what he read in that hazel pool. Not his girl. Buffy was nothing if not passionate. And she'd never been mildly anything when it came to him. Theirs was a world of extremes – from hate to love, to loving hate and hating love and every emotion in between.

The scent of Buffy's blood wafted forward, strong and near. The other's hand was covered in it. Not that any human would notice the speck gracing her thumb, but to a vampire the smallest drop smelled overpowering. Two Buffies. One beaten down and bleeding, the other looking fit as you please and empty in the eyes. That and she was covered in Buffy's blood.

Blood doesn't lie. Not to a vampire.

"Say hello to the cavalry, here to rescue y--" her voice cut out, Spike's shocking drop from his grip on the hanging chains surprising her. She didn't have a chance to exclaim in surprise. He didn't give her one. He just attacked.

Vice grip around her throat, they fell to the floor, a tangle of limbs. Enraged vampire assaults masquerading Slayer – news at 11. He ripped the key from her hand, pinning her beneath his knees then swiveled back to unlock the shackles around his ankles, lightning fast. Vampire speed at work – adept, graceful, deadly. The fake Buffy gurgled urgently at his strangling grasp. He ignored her, slipping his other foot free and standing, adjusting his chokehold as he rose and lifting her by the neck. He shoved her back, wrenching one of her hands up and closing a shackle around one dainty wrist. Then the other, leaving her hanging in the air.

"Hey…" she choked in protest, her throat bruised.

Not that he bothered to listen. He was already through the cell door and kneeling in front of Buffy, gently lifting her hand from her neck so he could examine the wound. It was more than a graze, still bleeding sluggishly despite her Slayer healing. Too fucking close to her carotid for his peace of mind. He vaguely noticed the growl rumbling in his chest and the fangs biting his lips.

"Your hands-"

"It's nothing," he dismissed her concern about his broken thumbs. They were already healing. "Your neck's-"

"I'm okay," she said hoarsely. "It just sort of stings. How did you-"

"The Immortal. Wanker got the drop on us while I was kicking back one too many Jack D's."

"Asshole."

"What'd I do now?" Spike asked, affronted.

"No, the Immortal. Asshole," Buffy grunted. "That jerk is begging to be slayed after the mother of all beat downs. Then I'm gonna have Willow resurrect him so I can kill him all over again."

Spike sat back on his haunches, gazing at her, blue eyes wide. All traces of aggression were wiped clean from his face. "God, I love you," he said in wonder.

Buffy simply smiled.

"Hey, guys? You planning on letting me down anytime soon? You know, like ever?" Connor asked, shaking the chains impatiently.

Spike smiled and shared a look of amusement with Buffy before rising and offering his hand to her. She took it, letting him help her stand. He masked his concern at her wobbling balance, unused to her faltering, but not wanting to insult her, treat her as weak. Leaving her trailing behind him, resisting the urge to carry her in his arms, he strode forward, swiftly freeing Connor's arms and handing him the key when he dropped nimbly to the floor.

"Feeling better, then?" Spike asked, catching sight of Connor's wide grin. He tossed over the key, letting Connor finish undoing the ankle shackles.

"You know me, not one to complain. Can't wait for the next time we get locked up and tossed into a torture room. Fun times," Connor snarked, stretching the kinks out of his sore arms.

"Naked fun times, apparently," Buffy observed from her leaning post against the cell door, eyeing Spike's naked, muscular chest next to Connor's slender build. Eyebrow raised, she asked, "Should I be jealous?"

"I'm not one to stray, love," Spike said, smiling.

"Lucky me," Buffy returned, arms carefully hugging her ribs as she kicked off her lone stiletto heel.

The fake Buffy coughed hoarsely, shooting Buffy an urgent look. "Tell him to let me down, Buffy. We don't have a lot of time."

Spike snorted. "Not bloody likely."

Buffy pursed her lips. "I don't know. I'm thinking chains are a good look for you. Even if it's just temporary. If we wait five more minutes, maybe you'll switch back over to the evil side again. We'll wait and see."

Spike nodded at the fake Buffy. "What's her deal?"

"Decoy Slayer. It was Andrew's idea," Buffy explained at Spike's questioning look.

"And you went along with it? Tsk tsk, Slayer. Somebody's getting sloppy," he teased.

"Buffy, please," the fake one pleaded. "We're running out of time. He's going to know I turned on him and then we'll be fighting through an army to get the last crystal in place. We need to go now."

Buffy shook her head, sagging against the cell door. "Give me a minute and then I'll go take care of it."

"We don't have time for that! He's going to realize I lied about where Willow and the others are holed up. Then it's game over. We have to go _now_. I'll do it, just let me go."

"No, you're not going alone," Buffy denied her. "No way in hell."

"You still don't trust me," the fake Buffy breathed.

Buffy touched her bloody neck. "Can you really blame me?"

"I'll go with her," Connor interrupted, stepping forward to unlock the Decoy's arm shackles.

"Wait a minute," Spike said, stepping in front of him. He nodded at Buffy, "Slayer's call."

"She's not going. I'll do it. I just need a minute," Buffy insisted.

"You can barely stand up. We don't have time for you to recover, okay?" the fake Buffy said urgently. She turned her gaze on Spike, "She's out of it. Maybe she'll be up to it in a few minutes, but by then it could be too late."

Spike squinted, eyeing Buffy in concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing except a few thousand volts being shot through her body," the fake Buffy said before Buffy could answer. "I'm surprised she's still conscious."

Buffy grunted. "I don't have time to be unconscious. But I've got it penciled in for later, thanks for asking."

"Right, makes sense to me," Connor said, stepping around Spike to let the fake Buffy down, who rubbed her wrists. "We'll go do whatever we've gotta do. Divide and conquer and kick ass."

"We've gotta put the crystal in place so that Willow can break through the magical defenses," the fake Buffy explained.

"Right, that," Connor nodded, bending down to pick up his shirt from the corner and pulling it over his head.

"It's the room to the left of the entrance hallway," Buffy said grudgingly, eyeing the other Buffy suspiciously. "Be careful, Connor."

Spike watched Buffy, listening offhand to the young and dynamic duo leave the cell. As soon as Connor and the other Buffy were out of sight, he strode forward, gripping Buffy by her arms before she dropped to the floor. He lowered her down, hunching to meet her eye level.

"Not having the best day, are we?"

"You noticed, huh?" Buffy said tiredly. "I'm okay. Really. It's finally starting to pass. I'm a little dizzy, that's all. I just need a-"

"Minute. Yeah, you said that already." Spike eyed the slash across her neck, worrying.

"It's fine. Already starting to heal," Buffy said, noticing his look. "It doesn't even hurt. It's just messy."

Spike smirked. "You know, I could help with that. The messy part."

Buffy hesitated for a long moment then said half-heartedly, "Ew! Gross, Spike."

"You were gonna let me do it!" he crowed, a shit-eating grin splitting his cheeks. Leaning towards her neck, he rumbled, "Now just hold still, baby, while I lick it all up."

"Ugh!" Buffy shoved him away, making him fall onto his back. She scowled at his howling laughter. "Why are you being such an annoying jerk?"

"Thought you _loved_ it when I was being annoying," Spike chuckled, rubbing his chest where she'd shoved him. "Guess your strength's coming back."

"It's called rage. It's like adrenaline for Slayers only…you got my letter?" Buffy jumped topics on him.

"Did I ever?" Spike said, wiggling his healing thumbs cryptically.

"That's it? That's all you're gonna say? You're freakin' kidding me," Buffy grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

"What do you want me to say?" Spike asked, rolling to his knees.

Buffy rolled her eyes.

"How your eyes are like moonbeams that lay me low? How your touch makes me tremble?" He crawled towards her slowly.

Buffy huffed, staring at a spot over his shoulder.

"How I love you so god damned much that it nearly killed me to think I'd lost you?" he breathed against her cheek.

"Only nearly?" Buffy avoided looking at him.

"Heartbroken. Devastated. A shell of what I once was. No hope for what I could be. Nothing left to look forward to but an endless parade of days missing you. Torture. Defeat. Failure. Alone."

Buffy turned her gaze on him. "Sounds pretty bad."

He nodded. "A fate worse than death."

"You're lucky I came for you. Put you out of your misery," she said solemnly, eyes dancing.

"Don't need to tell me how lucky I am," he said huskily, leaning in to brush his lips against hers.

"Spike?" Buffy whispered against his lips.

"Hm?" He nibbled her lower lip, waiting for her.

"Let's go kill that asshole Immortal."

"Oh, dirty talk," Spike grinned evilly. "You're turning me on."

Buffy raised both eyebrows. "Uh huh. Slay now, sexy time later."

He swooped in for a hard press of lips and tongue before jumping to his feet and mock saluting. "Like I said, Slayer's call."

She followed him, rising up on her own steam with a steely grace. Glancing down at his naked chest, she asked, "Shirt?"

Spike swept his shirt up out of the corner and held it to his chest. "Don't want anyone else getting an eyeful? I love it when you're all possessive," he teased, pulling the black t-shirt over his head.

She rolled her eyes in disgust and stalked out of the cell barefoot, not bothering to check if he was following.

He normally would have worried that he'd brassed her off. Pushed her too far. But he'd caught the huge grin on her face when her back was half-turned. The lady might play pissed off like she was gunning for an Oscar, but she wasn't fooling him.

The Slayer was head over bare heels. No question.

Damn. He loved Rome.

******


	23. Chapter 23

Buffy wasn't going to laugh. She'd never hear the end of it if she laughed. It would only encourage him and she wanted to nip this kind of behavior in the bud. Nip it in the bud? What and where exactly was the bud? Was she supposed to be nipping something of his that was, uh, bud-like? Because she failed to see how that would stop Spike from being all gross and raunchy. More like the exact opposite. She scrunched her forehead. Right – no nipping. At least, not for something like this. Nipping wasn't completely off the menu. More like she was nixing the inappropriately timed nipping. Yeah, and it didn't get more inappropriate than this. Time to slay, folks. Focus.

To recap – not laughing. Definitely not laughing. For one – bad encouragement. And two – it would hurt like hell. She grimaced at the pain in her sides, a dull ache on her right, a shooting pain on her left. Broken ribs there. Crap. Good thing she was right-handed. She'd lead with her right hook, no worries. Glancing down at her feet, she wiggled her bare toes as she stalked down the hallway, wishing she had on her slaying boots. What she wouldn't give for a sturdy heel and an attractive pointed toe. Black, preferably. Leather, even better.

Weapons. She needed weapons. Lots of sharp and pointy weapons. Ones that gave her an edge because she was feeling very edgeless stuck barefoot in the basement while probably bleeding internally. She'd swipe a sword or something off the first minion she killed. The thought cheered her. Give it up for the power of positive thinking. She smiled and stopped at the base of the stairs leading out of the lower level, waiting for Spike to catch up.

Which took all of two seconds. "What are we waiting for?" he asked from behind her, eyeing the dark stairwell curiously.

"You ready?" She met him with a level gaze, giving her best 'this is serious business' look.

"I was unborn ready," he replied smugly.

Buffy turned without comment and started up the stairs, stopping halfway to poke her toe at the dead body sprawled face down on the stairs, neck wrenched so far around that it almost faced backwards.

"Connor," Spike said simply.

"Remind me not to piss off Connor," Buffy said, leaning down to search the guard's body for weapons, frowning when she found none. She huffed in disappointment.

"Connor," Spike repeated.

"Now that's just greedy. He needs to learn how to share the toys," she grumbled, standing up and continuing up the stairs.

Spike shrugged. "Finders keepers."

"Says the guy preaching the five-finger discount."

"That's how the game is played, love. If I found it, I get to keep it. Don't see the problem."

"We're gonna have a talk about stealing after-" She stopped abruptly, feet frozen in place, realizing she'd lost the moral high ground when she'd robbed that Swiss bank to fund her Slayer organization. She'd been responding to Spike out of habit. He'd steal. She'd chastise. He'd be all unrepentant. She'd reluctantly accept it as one of his flaws to be worked on at a later date. When did that change? Now that later date meant she would be teaching him the thrills to be found in robbing heavily guarded bank vaults filled with diamonds and other priceless relics. She'd gotten called up from the minors and into majors while he was probably still playing petty theft. Maybe _he_ should start lecturing her. Oh god, her mind slammed into a brick wall at the thought of Spike schooling her on right and wrong.

"After we bludgeon the Immortal to death with hot pokers, mallets and other assorted weaponry?" Spike finished her statement for her while her tongue lay like dead weight in her gaping mouth. "Fine by me."

"Yeah, after that," Buffy said half-heartedly, hiding a grimace when she released a heavy sigh that shot a throbbing fire across her ribs. Note to self – don't sigh.

"Buffy?" Spike nudged her by the shoulder.

She blinked. "Huh?"

"You gonna open the door?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sure," she replied, jerking forward and pushing the door open without thinking. Another demon guard with bright red eyes jumped at the sight of her, releasing the door handle he'd been in the process of opening himself. Buffy and the demon stared at each other in shock for a split second before his fist shot forward, clipping her jaw. She grunted, falling back into Spike's arms. He caught her, hugging her reflexively before shoving her forward, out of the stairwell and to the side, sliding past her to confront the demon. Landing on her knees again – dammit, she was getting sick of being on her knees – she looked up to see Spike's fist knock the demon back a few paces before following up with a dirty kick to the back of the demon's knees.

The demon landed on his hip, kicking out desperately at Spike who was moving in for the kill. Spike caught the demon by the ankle, barely keeping him from hitting his groin, and twisted viciously. A sharp pop and Buffy knew the demon's leg was dislocated. A swift twist of the neck, a loud crunch, and the demon slumped lifeless to the floor.

Buffy was torn between pride at how quickly Spike had killed the demon and chagrin that she'd been in the way of the fight, literally pushed to the sidelines. This whole damsel in distress crap needed to be over. Now. The guys were getting all the kills. Not fair.

Staggering to her feet, she met Spike's bloodlusty grin with a tight smile, equal parts 'good for you, honey' pride mixed with a healthy dose of 'you're gonna pay for throwing me on the floor, bucko' threat.

"Sorry," Spike smiled apologetically.

The apology pissed her off. She could feel reason leave the building inside her head. Her shoulders straightened. Her spine elongated proudly. She didn't need his apology. Like she was a weak little girl he'd played too rough with on the playground. She was the Slayer. A slayer. The Slayer. Whatever. She could kick his ass six ways from Sunday and then run 10 miles at a sprint without breaking a sweat. Fist clenched, lips snarling, she stalked towards him. The muscles in her right arm bunched up, preparing to release a solid blow. Spike jerked back, hands raised. The sight of him retreating stopped her. Shaking her head, she mentally slapped herself. No more attacking your allies, okay?

"Sorry," Buffy muttered.

"Got a little pent up aggression in there, eh?" Spike chuckled in relief, relaxing the tension between them.

"Just ready to hit things. A lot." Just as she finished speaking, two more demon guards identical with glowing red eyes ran into the corridor. "Oh, goody."

"Looks like wishes _are_ horses today," Spike snarked, attacking the demon closest to him.

"Horses?" Buffy said, dodging a kick to her head. She swung her right fist, smashing the demon in the face. Bone crunched. Blood splattered. The nose. She loved going for the nose. The demon teetered. She threw another punch and heard his neck crack from the force of her fist colliding with his jaw. Oh, yeah. Slayer – 1, Demon – 0.

Grinning, she turned to Spike to share her triumph. He didn't seem to notice. Understandable considering he was surrounded by the one demon he'd been fighting plus two more who'd arrived while her back was turned. She caught a flash of silver and her grin turned feral. Weapon. Want. A punch to the back of the demon's skull, a twist and a turn, and the sword was in her hand, its blade sliding across the demon's throat. She let his body thud to the floor, forgotten like a gnat she'd just swatted down, her eyes already moving to her next target.

"Spike!" she yelled. "Duck."

He responded immediately, dropping into a crouch. Which was good because the sword blade was swinging over his head a second later, slicing through the neck of the demon standing above him. Demon head rolling, she kept on swinging, ignoring the fiery burst of pain in her chest. The blade sang, a death blur, a sharp and furious extension of her arms – _her teeth, her rage, her heart _– hunting for blood. It found what it wanted, slicing through the belly of the third demon, spilling his guts on the floor.

Spike scrambled away from the messy kill. "Hey! Can we _not_ cover me in demon spew?"

Lowering the sword slowly, Buffy shrugged. "Oops. _Sorry_," she mocked, eyes still bright.

Leaning back on his elbows, he looked nonplussed for a moment then pointed an accusing finger. "Play nice, Slayer."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she denied, gripping the sword firmly, its hilt bumping against her hip. Walking down the corridor, backtracking her way mentally to the center reception room where she'd last seen the Immortal, she goaded, "C'mon, Spike. Don't wanna miss all the fun, do you?"

Leaping upright, his hand shot out, encircling her wrist. He pulled back, bringing her to a halt. "Feeling up to it now, hm?" he murmured, testing the strength in her arm.

Buffy tossed her head back. "I'm up for anything."

He lifted his eyebrows, measuring her determination. Then he smiled. She read deep satisfaction in his gaze. She guessed whatever he saw was good enough. More than good enough. The moment burst, the measuring tension between them blurred into swift motion. Then she was spinning, sword whipping wide in her grasp as he twirled her around and into his arms. He bent her back, one hand supporting under her shoulderblades, the other cradling the base of her neck, tilting her head back to gaze at the ceiling above.

Her body stilled in his embrace, her vision spinning out of orbit as her free hand clutched his right shoulder for support. She was falling. Shock blasted through her at the feel of his tongue licking a cool path along her neck, from the corded muscle sloping down to her shoulders, then up, slowly sucking across her throat. She gasped. Her heart stuttered in her chest then raced a furious beat. She arched her back, both hands clutching his shoulders, clawing through his hair, pulling him closer. Her sword lay forgotten at her feet. His tongue swam across her skin, a reverse paintbrush sucking up the bright red spilled across her neck, licking her clean.

His hunger satisfied, he finally lifted his head, running his tongue along the corners of his lips. His eyes burned her. She dazed. She wavered. She might have died. She'd have to ask him later. Time jumped and stopped and reversed around her. Inside a tightening gyre threaded through her veins, rippling underneath her skin, reweaving the motions of her body in ways foreign and ancient. She breathed. She remembered to breathe. He smiled and then her hand was there, cupping his smooth cheek, running her fingers across his lips and the flat edges of his teeth. No fangs. She saw the faintest hint of gold in his eyes and a glow about him from feeding, but nothing more of the demon within. Where did he go? Him. It. Was there a difference?

"Was driving me mad," he murmured against her fingertips.

Buffy licked her lips. Her throat felt raw, dry, cracked, thirsty for more of his water. She'd swallowed the Saharan without knowing it. "I…I told you sexy time later," she stuttered.

He whipped her upright, leaving her weaving and wobbling outside the circle of his arms. "Sorry," he drawled. "Guess I forgot."

…

…Liar.

******


	24. Chapter 24

Buffy felt the earth move and shake beneath her. Her knees wanted to bend. She ordered them locked. The air felt thick around her, slowing her thoughts, making the turn of her chin or blink of her eyes sluggish and surreal. She knew she'd stared at Spike too long when his grin grew with obscene delight, his tongue curling behind his teeth. That tongue. Gah, no.

Avoiding his knowing look, she looked down and frowned at the sword on the floor. Her sword. She bent over and picked it up. The hilt felt solid in her grasp. The weight of forged steel steadied her. Her gaze rose with the pointed tip of the sword to meet his stare. He wriggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner, tilted his head and grinned again, showing off his perfectly white teeth.

She felt the earth move again. Then she heard it explode.

"What the…?" Spike said, looking up at the ceiling. A distant booming shook the walls. A painting that looked like a Monet (…Manet? she wasn't good at art stuff) fell to the floor. The lights flickered, recovered for a moment to flare brightly before a loud pop shattered all the bulbs. The room fell into darkness, brief but for the time it took for their eyes to adjust to the faint light given off by the decorative candles throughout the hall.

"Willow," Buffy breathed.

"Red sure knows how to make an entrance."

"Let's go," she ordered, already striding down the hall and turning a corner. Three demon guards running down the hall in her direction stopped at the sight of her, pausing to look at her torn dress and bare feet. She could feel the moment they decided she was the Buffy they could attack. Luckily for her, she had no reason to pause, already knowing she could attack them. Lunging forward, she swiped her sword at one guard's neck while delivering a spinning kick to another demon's jaw. The sword sliced through flesh, quick and easy, while ball of her foot collided with rough skin over bone. Both demons dropped to the floor, one dead, the other dazed. She spun the sword in her grasp, catching it on a downward turn and jabbing it into the demon's chest. He gurgled when the blade pierced his heart then fell silent.

She turned to the sound of grunting behind her and found Spike fighting off a headlock from the third guard. "Spike, stop playing around and finish it."

He let go of the arm trying to twist off his head and snapped his head back into the demon's face. "I'm working on it," he growled, reaching back to snap the demon's neck to the side.

Buffy was halfway down the hall before the final body had fallen to the floor. Another demon jumped out of a side hallway, a knife in one hand. Her leg snapped up, knocking the blade loose. It spun in the air towards her. She caught it and twirled it in her hand a few times. The demon inched back, hands raised. In mid-spin, she jerked her wrist forward and the knife flew through the air. A second later, she pulled the knife from the demon's chest and tossed it to Spike who eyed the knife in appreciation. She lifted an eyebrow and said, "Don't say I never gave you anything."

"Still warm from a fresh kill. Best present ever." His smile crooked. "Well, almost best."

She didn't respond. There wasn't time for flirty chit chat. He fell into step behind her. Every turn down a new hallway brought more demon guards out of the shadows. Swipe, slash, punch, kick. She knew the dance so well she could waltz it blindfolded. It always ended the same way. The demon lost. She won. Or sometimes Spike won. Same diff. It all blurred together. The fight pulsed through her, pushing down the pain in her ribs, washing away the shaky daze from the electric shocks. She lost count of the demons they killed. Their number didn't matter. They didn't matter. They were obstacles standing between her and him. Guards, minions, drones, flunkies – she'd knock them all down, making a bloody path of bodies leading to the Immortal.

The last demon standing stared at the sea of bodies and ran. She bent at the waist to the side, whipping her leg across a side table and kicking a heavy vase forward. It shattered against the guard's skull. The pieces of porcelain landed around his body on the carpet.

"Gotta tell you. I missed the days you went slaying in those excuses for skirts. Glad to see you going retro, love," Spike said, eyes devouring the bare tops of her thighs.

"You're a pig, Spike. And I'm getting the feeling you're having trouble focusing. Eyes up top, 'kay?"

"I'm plenty focused. I'm just a good multi-tasker. I can ogle you and slaughter all at the same time."

"That's the spirit," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Carefully stepping through the broken shards of porcelain, she eyed the closed double doors leading the large reception room. The base of her spine tingled.

"Spike!" a voice called from behind them. Connor. At the opposite end of the hall, he stood over the body of a guard, his axe planted in the demon's back. A look of appreciation passed between him and Spike. A distracting look which allowed a creepy looking, bald man in a dark suit to step behind Connor with scalpel raised. Spike jerked into motion, running forward. The sudden movement was enough warning for Connor to turn and catch the attacker's wrist. Spike wrenched the other man's arm behind him, twisting so hard it popped out of socket. Connor kicked the man's kneecap. Bone crunched. The man fell forward into the blade held up by Connor's grip on his wrist, the scalpel sliding into his throat.

Four more demons ran into the hallway and attacked. Connor and Spike circled around each other, working back to back to separate them. They had it covered. Buffy looked at the two fighting at the far end of the hall then back at the closed double doors. No time to waste. The boys would just have to catch up.

Her fist tightened on the sword hilt. She strode forward and kicked the doors open. They swung on sturdy hinges and smashed into the walls of the reception room. Her bare feet stalked across the ten feet of smooth marble floors before sinking into the red carpet runner leading to the large throne-like chair. The empty chair. A loud crash her turning to find the double doors closed behind her. She lunged for them and pulled. Locked. She jerked on the doors. Locked and not budging. Mystically locked maybe. So much for this guy not liking magic. Eyeing the empty room, she wondered when the trap would be sprung.

"Alone at last," the Immortal's voice drawled from a distance.

Searching among the shadows, Buffy walked back to stand on the carpet runner in the center of the room. The room was well-lit compared to the outer hallways with torches mounted in between the windows that ran along the length of the side walls. Even without the torches, the large windows would have let in enough moonlight to see without straining. "Alone at last," she repeated. "So you gonna come out and play?"

"The view is so much better from up here," he answered, his voice coming from behind her. She turned around expecting to find him between her and the door. Nothing. "I can see it all coming. The bird's eye view."

She looked up and found him standing on a railed level that led out to a terraced patio on top of the building. Two sets of stairs flanked the back wall leading up to the landing, something she hadn't noticed in her dazed exit last time. She saw bright flashes of light explode in the sky behind him, outlining his form in yellows, oranges and reds. Like fireworks. Magic. "Figures you'd like being on top."

Arms spread wide, he gripped the rail, leaning over to look down at her. "Yes. The higher ground gives many advantages. Most important of all – perspective."

"So what? You're locking me in to have a little chat? Shouldn't you have waited till your guards ran in to take care of your dirty work?"

"I ordered them to lead you here. Alone. They will not disturb us. I thought it time we became better acquainted."

"You asking me out on a date?" Buffy asked. "'Cause I'm already seeing somebody."

"Dating. I have no interest in such a juvenile encounter."

"Good. 'Cause the whole rejection and avoidance dance would have really made this fight to the death awkward."

The Immortal smiled briefly before asking, "Where is she? My Buffy. Does she still live?"

"She's just peachy. Or, at least, she was." Buffy shrugged. "Maybe your goons have changed that by now."

"No," he countered. "She need only fear death at your bloodied hands. None of my own would dare. She helped you escape, of course. I thought she might. Though I had hoped she'd seen the error of her ways. She is ever loyal. Even to such a cruel master. Cruel and unable to appreciate what is before you."

"Cruel? You mean, like murdering dozens of girls? Hunting them down and tossing them to a hungry crowd like table scraps? Draining their blood and dumping their bodies? Cruel like that?"

"You think death is the ultimate cruelty? Naive child. Cruelty is born in the hands of those who torture the living. Cruelty is born of life. Death is a merciful end. Death brings freedom and necessary rebirth. We should all be so lucky-"

"Yeah, naive and cruel," she interrupted. "That's me. So why don't you come on down and scold me face to face?"

"Your generation is impatient. You rush to feel and know everything. Yet this greed makes you careless. In your mad dash, you fail to truly appreciate what is before you. You wish to know all and, in the end, you know nothing."

"Uh huh. Yeah. Great," Buffy said, bored out of her mind. "More talking."

The Immortal closed his eyes, tilting his head, sensing the air around him. "Your witch draws near. I can feel her magic. So violent. Dark and twisted. Her anger feeds it. And her fear."

"You don't have to worry about Willow." Buffy hefted her sword up, pointing it at the Immortal. "You'll be dead long before she gets here."

He smiled. "Is that a promise?"

"That's a fact. So are we gonna fight like ever? Or did you just lock me in your evil lecture hall so you could talk me to death? 'Cause me dying of boredom is a definite possibility right now."

"Yes. Fight. We might as well. Perhaps some good will come of it where none has gone before."

Buffy swung the sword in her hand, body tensing in anticipation. "Come on down, Morty. Let's play."

"Will you slay me with your sword of righteousness? Your sword of truth, oh warrior of the people? Except the people hate you now, do they not?"

"Sword of truth? Is that what this is? Boy, is my face red. I've been calling him Mr. Pointy 2.0."

"Your resentful ignorance is delicious," he said, smiling cruelly. Then he jumped into motion, leaping over the railing, a blur of black and red shadow. He landed in a crouch, rising gracefully to tower over her.

Buffy attacked, slamming the sword forward. The blade slid through his belly and out his back. She kept pushing till the hilt hit flesh then released her hold, stepping back.

The Immortal looked down at the sword sticking out of his chest. Raising one hand he righted the upturned collar of his shirt. Delicately bending his wrists one at a time, he then straightened the cuffs of his sleeves. Shirt righted, his hand struck out, backhanding Buffy across the cheek. The slap knocked her back a few steps. Shaking her head, she looked up in shock to find him pulling the sword out of his gut. He ran a finger along the gaping wound that quickly disappeared into smooth, healed flesh.

"What the hell?" she gasped.

"Did you think it was just a name?" he mocked. "Names have power, little girl. Names are warning. Names become your reality. You should know better, Slayer."

She didn't have time to riddle out his cryptic messages. She was too busy ducking the sword slashing over her head. Jumping to the side, she avoided the next volley of attacks, lunging back out of reach. Crap. Note to self – really old guys are good with swords. This guy probably had a sword instead of a baby rattle when he was a kid. However long ago that was. The sword whizzed past her neck, barely inches away from striking her. She felt the breeze from the blade kiss her skin. Way too close. Diving forward, she tumbled towards a side table. Grabbing a heavy silver tray off the table, she used it to block the next swing. The tray bent in her hands, the force of the blow making the bones in her wrist ache. The next strike knocked the tray to the floor. She jumped back, avoiding a violent slash aimed at her chest, and tripped over the fringed edge of the Persian carpet.

"I expected more from you," the Immortal said, touching the tip of the sword to Buffy's throat.

"Yeah, guess it sucks to be you," she gritted, careful not to move and force his attack.

"You still do not understand what you have unleashed, do you? You have upset the balance of this sorry world. You refuse to consider the ramifications of your actions."

"It's never enough for you bad guys to just try and kill me, is it? You've always gotta play the guilt trip card. It's tired. Get a new approach."

He planted his foot on her chest and pressed down, watching her flinch at the pressure. He pushed slightly to the right, then the left. She gasped when he hit the break in her ribs on the left side. He smiled and pushed down harder. She felt the break snap wider. Her vision went black for a split-second before coming back into a blurred focus. Bright red spots swam across her line of vision. The blade at her throat forgotten, she grasped his ankle, desperate to relieve the pressure.

"What will it take before you learn the error of your ways?" he asked, leaning the full weight of his body down on her.

Buffy cried out, fighting the urge to slip into unconsciousness to avoid the pain.

"I had heard you were special. I have met Slayers before. Many times. You were said to be a cut above the rest. Unique. Yet you are just as weak as all the other girls. Misguided, fragile, unaware. Easily seduced. Easily manipulated. Easily broken."

Broken. Not broken. A spark of anger grew, overriding her pain, forging it into an inferno of rage. The sound of glass smashing distracted the Immortal. He looked behind him to see Spike land in a shower of broken shards from the window, holding an axe in his hands.

"Break this," Buffy snarled, shoving the sword to the side and smashing her fist into the Immortal's groin. She ripped his foot off her, twisting his ankle and kicking his other leg out from under him. He fell to the ground, groaning. Rolling away from him, Buffy leap to her feet and smiled at Spike. "Hi honey. You're late."

"Got caught in demon traffic. Won't happen again. Promise." He nodded at the Immortal. "Nice of you to save a piece for me."

Bending down, she picked up her sword lying next to the Immortal before walking to stand next to Spike. "Now, don't say I never gave you anything."

Spike's grin turned feral. His predator's stare never wavered from the Immortal lying on the floor cupping his abused groin. "You give the best presents, love."

She was willing to share this kill. Yeah, it had to be love.

*******


	25. Chapter 25

They moved in for the kill, side by side, together. Her blood pumped in time with each hot exhale from her aching chest. The sword steadied her. She loved the weight of it. Her senses widened, expanding every sound and movement into super surround sound playing in slow motion. She saw Spike raise the axe gripped in his right hand and move to flank the Immortal on the right while she went left. She heard the torches crackling. She smelled leather and blood and sweat. She didn't hear the sound of their feet moving forward – there was nothing to hear.

They were silent. They were deadly. They were perfect. Her mind whispered 'Slayer'. She looked to her right and amended 'Slayers'. This immortal jerkoff was toast. Extra-burnt and crispy toast that you dumped in the trash because it's beyond saving.

Then the Immortal Jerkoff started laughing. Hysterical laughter. Or what passed for hysterical laughter from a guy so suave and together that every expression came off as calculating. The laughter was bizarrely spontaneous, coming from deep within his chest and causing his whole body to shake on the floor. He'd stopped cupping his groin, his hands now splayed over his stomach.

Buffy looked at Spike and raised an eyebrow in the Immortal's direction. Spike shrugged his axe which she took to mean 'I'm here to cause carnage, not psychoanalyze the wanker.' And he wasn't wrong. That was the beauty of slaying. Once your target was acquired, the job description was pretty simple.

"What will be next? What other petty emasculation do you have hidden in your arsenal?" the Immortal said, still chuckling.

"You know, normally I'm all for the witty repartee mid-slay, but, Morty, I'm gonna have to start charging you by the hour for my slaying services if you're just gonna waste my time with the non-stop talk," Buffy said, inching closer. Spike moved into position on the other side. "So what's it gonna be? You gonna just lie there chatting?"

"I see no reason to cater to your desires."

"Enough already," Spike snarled and swung the axe at Morty's neck. Buffy jerked into motion a moment later, sword slicing through the air in the hope of catching up with Spike and resuming their in sync attack. She should have known he'd be less patient with the Immortal's bullshit. Her guy had a short temper.

The Immortal caught the axe by the hilt – and what no he shouldn't but he did oh crap – and blocked her sword with the blunt edge of the axe's head. He pulled the axe to his right, throwing Spike off-balance and smashing into her. Spike fought to regain his footing, spinning around wildly. He tripped her. She fell backwards, grabbing his shirt collar for support. They both careened into the mammoth-sized oak side table running along the long, center carpet. Her shoulder banged against the table's edge. His elbow cluncked it. They landed in a tangle of limbs, their weapons clattering on the marble floor.

"Spike! Get off me!"

"Argh! Careful with the knee, Slayer! You're awfully eager in hitting that area, love. Frustrated, are we? Maybe I should've-"

"Shut up!" Buffy spat and shoved him to the side.

The Immortal stood a few yards away, watching them while he brushed imaginary lint off his silk shirt. He caught her eye and smirked. No, just no. There was so much wrong with this picture. Fists clenched so tightly her joints popped, she rose to her knees. "Oh, yeah, you're a funny guy," she said, bristling as she stood up.

"When you have lived as long as I have, there comes a time when you must create your own amusements."

"Amusement? As in, _game_?" she said, swinging her fist at his jaw. Left, right, left, right. She beat him back with each furious punch. "Is this all a game to you?!"

The Immortal caught her right fist. She swung her left. He caught it in his large hand, pushing both arms down to meet her glare. "Everything is a game. Life never knowing death. The game never ends." His sneer contorted into a grimace of pain as he jerked forward, grunting, before he slumped to his knees. She saw the axe sticking out of his back.

"Sometimes you just gotta know when to fold 'em," Spike drawled.

Buffy didn't gloat. Spike had it covered. Instead, she dove for the sword lying yards behind her. The Immortal was down, but not out. "Looks like you lost the coin toss, Morty. Heads," she said, swinging the blade into his neck. She felt it pierce the corded muscle of his neck and slide through flesh. Then it stopped. Her arms froze, holding the blade still in his neck as it grazed his spine. Grunting, she tried pushing the blade through. Her arms shook, but held firm, refusing to move as she willed. Sweat trickled down her brow. She gritted her teeth and pushed again. Nothing.

"Has your bloodlust been satisfied?" the Immortal said, pushing the blade out of his neck. It slid free, the gaping wound sealing closed as the edge of the sword retreated. "You are destined for disappointment, Slayer. Or how would you say? Wannabe Slayer."

Buffy stared in shock at Spike. Her arm dropped, the sword tip falling down to clank against the floor. Spike took up where she left off. Always good to get a second opinion. He ripped the axe out of the Immortal's back and swung down. The attack never connected. Mid-stroke, the double doors blasted open with a fiery red energy that knocked everyone back. Buffy and Spike were thrown a few yards behind the Immortal, who only shuddered from the forceful entrance as he braced himself on his knees.

"The witch…" the Immortal whispered, turning to face Willow's black eyes as she floated past the entrance, energy crackling from her hands and whipping strands of red hair around her face.

"Willow!" Buffy yelled. "We can't ki-"

_I know_.

_Wait, huh? You know I don't like it when you do that, Will._

_Do you really wanna argue right now? 'Cause kinda busy here._

Willow was channeling a huge ball of magic that swirled between her hands like a purple fireball.

"Yes, strike hard and true, witch," the Immortal said, standing and rapping his chest. "You are one of the most powerful beings left in this wasteland. Do not hold back."

"No holding back, check," Willow said in a low voice, before throwing her arms forward and releasing the purple fireball. The magic flashed a blinding light as it collided into the Immortal's chest. He stumbled back a few paces, bending down with his hands braced on his knees.

He looked up and chuckled. "Not bad, witch. Give me more," he said, twisting his neck and wiping away the blood to show his wound now completely disappeared.

Willow shot mystical electricity from her hands. The vines of energy connected with the Immortal, entering his body. "Pain," Willow snarled, reinforcing the spell. The Immortal threw his head back, eyes closed. Yeah, that was definitely not pain on his face.

_Willow, it's not working. He's absorbing-_

_I know! _

_Try something else._

_Like what?!_

_Get creative. Think outside the box._

_Right. Box. Got it._

Willow pointed at one of the large oak side tables. It shook on the ground then rose up, hovering off the floor. She flung her hand at the Immortal. The huge table flew through the air. The Immortal ducked. Buffy and Spike didn't. At least, not enough.

"Oomph!"

"Bloody he-!"

Sounds of fighting pushed away the cotton candy fuzz and little psychedelic birdies singing around her head. Someone shouted. Metal clashed. Angry voices. Battle cries. Then a snarky come-on. Faith. Sure, why not? Everybody gets a turn on the merry-go-round.

She groaned, her entire lower body screaming out under a crushing pressure. She wanted the numbing cotton candy back.

"Buffy! You alright? Buffy!" Spike sounded concerned and pissed off.

She groaned again.

"Love, wake up! We've gotta push. I can't lift this on my own."

"Ow," she said, squinting one eye open to look up at Spike leaning over her. "How come you aren't all smooshed?"

"It clipped my shoulder. Knocked me out of the way."

"You suck."

"Save the sweet talk for later and push," he said, gripping the table's edge that rested on top of her pelvis and across her legs.

Groaning, she shoved up with all the strength she could muster. It wasn't a lot. They lifted the table up enough that the pressure crushing lessened across her pelvis and thighs. Her muscles shook and gave out. She let go, arms dropping to the floor.

Spike cursed, his hands almost losing their grip as he fought to keep the table from falling down on her. "No, not today! Push, dammit. Thought you were stronger than this. You been fooling me this whole time? All it takes is a bloody piece of furniture and you're calling it quits?" She glared back in answer to his taunt. "No. Didn't think so. Now, push!"

Gritting her teeth and channeling her desire to slap Spike, she pushed with all her strength. Spike crouched next to her, lifting with his legs. When the table was angled high enough, he slipped his shoulder underneath and pushed, freeing her legs. He bobbed down, bending his knees, and shot up, leveraging the table higher another foot in the air while he dropped down and grabbed Buffy by the shoulders. He jerked her back, pulling her away from the table as what felt like several tons of oak walloped down against the marble floor.

"You okay?" Spike asked, lying next to her on the floor.

Buffy stared at the table, eyes wide. "What exactly was your plan if that hadn't worked?"

"Figure we'd be smooshed together." He coughed out a laugh. "Buffy, you okay?"

"Yeah, I think - ow," Buffy said, feeling a twinge in her right ankle as she sat up. She tested it again, trying to lift her foot. Broken. Or sprained bad enough to feel like it was broken. "I think my ankle's-"

Spike rolled over her, kicking out at the guard swinging a mace. Buffy rolled away from the two grappling and tried to stand. Her ankle protested, refusing to hold her weight. She fell back down to her knees and noticed the chaos around her. Dozens of guards were fighting Slayers in the large hall. Flashes of magic throughout the room told her Willow's wiccan crew were hard at work.

The Immortal was easy to find in the crush. Half a dozen yards away, he towered over everyone. God, was he really that tall? She saw a tiny blonde stride up to him, the demons around him parting to let her pass. She looked almost childlike in height standing next to his tall form. There was nothing childlike about the slap she delivered. The smack whipped his head back.

"Stop this!" the Decoy yelled, pointing at the demons and Slayers fighting around her. "If you ever cared about me at all…"

The Immortal didn't answer, only gripped the Decoy's arms and shoved her into the waiting arms of his guards. "Remove her from the conflict. Guard her," he ordered. Then he muttered, "Protect her."

The Decoy fought against the guards pulling her away. "No, you have to stop this! Please!"

The Immortal turned to look at the Decoy. Distracted, he didn't see Faith diving over the heads of demon guards surrounding him, the Scythe in her hand. She landed nimbly. "Yeah, immortal dude, stop _this_," she said, driving the pointy end of the Scythe through his heart.

The Immortal shuddered and gripped the hilt of the Scythe, falling to his knees dramatically. He closed his eyes. Almost as if he was waiting. Then opened them and stared down at the Scythe. "I would have thought if any weapon could…" he said, questioning. He laughed harshly. "Not even the weapon that slew the pure demons can end me."

"Buffy, look out!" Spike yelled, forcing Buffy to look away from Faith and the Immortal in time to see a demon guard wielding a knife. She kicked his legs out from under him. He fell on top of her. They rolled on the ground, fighting for the knife. A wild slash cut her hand and she grunted. Hand already bleeding, she became less careful in her grip and used all her brute force to push the blade down into the demon's chest, cutting her hands along the way. The demon sputtered out a final breath then went still.

Buffy rolled away, lying on her back. She looked to her right and saw Spike and Connor helping a group of outnumbered Slayers. And was that Angel and Xander actually working together to decapitate a demon? And there was Giles directing the girls into the fray with his upraised sword. Looks like the whole gang was here. It was kinda like a reunion. Only more fighting. Okay, it was exactly like a Harris family reunion.

"No!" Willow screamed. Buffy whipped her head around to see the Immortal pulling a knife from Kennedy's gut. A blast of magic forced the Immortal back away from Kennedy as she fell. Willow caught her girlfriend, clutching her in her arms, rocking her back and forth as she murmured healing incantations.

"Will your magic be enough?" the Immortal goaded.

Buffy struggled to stand, watching as the black in Willow's eyes spread to her hair. Willow lowered Kennedy to the floor, standing. A quick succession of fiery blasts blinded Buffy. She heard the Immortal's laughter and Willow's enraged cries with each burst of power. The light faded and Buffy saw the Immortal reach into his pocket and pull out a black orb the size of a baseball. He tossed it in the air, caught it and rolled it across his fingers.

"Why won't you die?!" Willow snarled, shooting another blast of power.

"Good question. One begins to wonder, what it would take for _you_ to die, witch. Would you like to see if this works? The oubliette. Where you and your power will be forgotten," he said, holding up the black orb. Willow shot another blast of magic at the Immortal, the power hitting the orb he held at his chest. The orb glistened a bright white, absorbing the magic. Then the orb's clear surface shivered. Black tentacles broke from the orb, shooting out towards Willow and surrounding her. The black whipped around Willow's body, up her torso and moved to cover her mouth, glistening silver in the black as it leeched away magic.

It was swallowing her whole.

******


	26. Chapter 26

"Willow, no," Buffy gasped. She jumped to her feet and ran. The razor sharp pain in her ankle didn't matter. It couldn't. Her broken ankle twisted into a misshapen lump. Bones smashed together, nerve endings fired warnings – everything in her body told her to stop, lie down, rest.

But no – no stopping. No rest.

She charged through the demon standing between her and the Immortal, batting him to the side. Leaping forward, she tackled the Immortal by the waist, knocking the orb loose from his grasp and sending it crashing to the floor. The black tentacles retracted slightly, releasing their hold on Willow to flop against the carpet, a beached squid seeking to devour its prey and finding none in reach.

The Immortal shoved Buffy off him, snapping his elbow into her jaw. She slumped to the floor. Her vision spun and kaleidoscoped into half a dozen whirling points of view. She shook her head and looked up. And no, wrong, wrong, wrong. Like it wasn't bad enough that the Immortal was impossible to kill, now there were _six_ of him.

And, whoa, lots of Faith. More Faith than Buffy liked, but she'd let the Immortal worry about that. All six Faiths swung Scythes at his necks. He caught the hilts and yanked them down, wrenching her wrists at a harsh angle. She lost hold of all six weapons. Quick to regroup, six spinning Faiths punched each Immortal in the jaw, snarling, "You like that—_likethatlikethat_— sleazebag—_bagbag_? Gonna try to gut me—_gutmegutme—_ next?"

A smack, a grunt, a gasp and then Buffy's vision blacked out completely. When she opened her eyes, one Immortal stood above her, pointing the Scythe at her chest.

"You have caused me enough disappointment, girl. You fail to live up to your name."

"Do you ever shut up?" Buffy groaned, her vision weaving in and out, but thankfully more in than out at the moment. Her ankle throbbed, lighting fiery twinges across her scalp and down her spine.

"There is one way to bring you ease. Hold still and soon all will be silent."

"Go silence yourself, Morty," Buffy gritted out, squinting up at his blurry figure above her.

He lifted the Scythe, swinging down only to stop. He grimaced, dropping the Scythe to the floor. Buffy flinched when the blade clattered too close to her head. The Immortal turned to face his attacker and she saw it – a black, goopy blob on his back. His shirt was moving. His shirt was alive and evil and probably immortal, too. No, wait. It was black tentacles shifting into the silk of his shirt. Right, so the shirt wasn't immortal. She didn't need to slay the shirt.

"Lara?" the Immortal said, disbelieving. He reached behind to touch his back where the orb was imbedded, dark rays leeching out of it to crawl across his torso.

"I'm sorry," the Decoy cried, reaching for him then pulling back guiltily, eyes tormented. "I'm sorry, but you…you wouldn't stop. I couldn't get you to stop. You were gonna kill her and I…I had to make you stop." She gasped, staring in horror at the encroaching black mist that coiled up around his body. Reaching forward, she clasped his hand. "I won't forget you. I won't. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

The Immortal shook his head. He looked down at the rising opaque black now covering his limbs and blanketing his chest. He let out a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing, releasing the proud tension in his spine. Not defeated, but… His eyes, normally cool and detached and scornful, shined. He smiled, slow and easy, the curve of his lips spreading up and lighting his face.

"No, Lara, let me go," he said gently. Unclenching her grip on his hand, he released her. His smile grew, his mask of aloof superiority melting away. Was that joy? "Let me _end_ now." His gaze traveled over Lara's face before meeting her tear-filled green eyes. The black mist rose up to his neck and circled around the back of his skull. He seemed to ignore it, instead raising his hand, three-fourths covered by the encroaching dark, to brush her cheek with his thumb. "May the world be kinder to you. May you remain pure of heart. Incorruptible. Beloved."

"Oh, god, I'm sorry," Lara choked out. Her eyes filled with tears. She shook her head, panting, as his hand was engulfed in black next to her cheek.

"No. Mille grazie, amata. This is your greatest gift to me," he said, his voice tender. The black edges creeped into the seams of his lips, painting his smile in gruesome night.

Then he was gone, eyes covered, face devoured by darkness. His form contracted under the undulating dark waves folding around him, shrinking into a tight ball the size of a fist before flashing bright fire, flames hardening the tar into a perfectly round obsidian stone. The stone dropped to the floor with a ping, rolling forward to rest against Lara's boot.

A minute passed before Lara stiffly bent to retrieve the stone, cupping it in her hands. She moved to stand, but her knees trembled and gave out. She slumped to the floor, cradling the stone in her lap.

Buffy looked away, unable to watch the Decoy – no, Lara – mourning the Immortal. A visceral glee had run through her at knowing he was gone. Kaput. End of story. Hate was easy, hate was pure. She wished Lara could share the feeling. Her heart had twisted at the sight of them and she hated that a spear of regret had gripped her in that moment. She was glad he was dead. Deliriously happy.

Life wasn't supposed to be this hard. Life shouldn't make you have to lie to your friends or have a secret identity or kill the man you love. Life, well, sometimes life just sucked. God, same old song, different verse. Welcome to the remix.

Avoiding the Decoy meant she had to face the bodies of her friends. Turning her head reluctantly, she peered behind her and saw Faith stumbling to her feet. Further back, Willow and Kennedy held each other, their foreheads pressed together in an awkward slump against an overturned table.

A hitching gasp brought Buffy's gaze around. She saw Lara's shoulders shaking, her head bent forward, her body curving over the stone resting in her lap. Buffy crawled closer to Lara, lifting a hand to touch her shoulder only to pause, uncertain of how to comfort her. Grief for a loved one was confusing enough, but how was she supposed to comfort someone grieving her mortal enemy? 'Don't cry – he was an asshat and you should be glad he's dead' just didn't sound like the way to go.

Buffy settled for sitting next to Lara in silence, hate and guilt mixing together in her gut.

"He thought you were becoming evil. Corrupt," Lara said, almost whispering, her voice distant. "That you'd lost the mission. Heh. Like him." Lara traced a line of light reflecting on the shiny stone. "He was going to kill you. I had to…" She looked over her shoulder at Buffy. "I had to…?"

Buffy tensed. "He was wrong," she denied. "You did the right thing."

"Right. Wrong. Right…?" Lara sounded lost. "Nothing about this feels right. _Nothing_ feels right anymore."

"Yeah, I know," Buffy admitted, dropping her gaze. She vaguely perceived the distant sounds of the battle dying down around them.

"I did believe. I believed you were the hero. And I was gonna help you. I was gonna help save the world," Lara said numbly, eyes distant and unseeing. She swallowed roughly and looked at Buffy, tears streaming down her face. "I wanna believe you're the hero. Please," she begged, holding up the stone and offering it to Buffy. "I wanna believe. Please. I need…"

"What is it?" Buffy asked, taking the black orb into her hands.

"The forgetting. He said it's where no one will remember you. Where you forget yourself. Forever. And ever and ever and ever and ever and ever…" Lara muttered, rocking back and forth. Her face blanked, eyes turned inward and lifeless, like a murky slate wiped clean.

Buffy touched Lara's shoulder, trying to soothe her, but Lara continued to rock. "I'm sorry," Buffy choked out. "I'm so sorry."

"What's wrong?" Spike asked, standing behind them, the sword in his hand covered in demon blood. Connor stood at his side.

Buffy tried to speak past the lump in her throat, but ended up only shaking her head. She tried swallowing again. "Lara…"

Connor swept past Buffy, falling to his knees in front of Lara and taking hold of her hands. "Lara. Lara, look at me." She kept rocking. He cupped her cheeks, raising her blank gaze towards him. "Lara. Lara, it's gonna be okay. Lara." He kept repeating her name, chanting it. "Lara, it's okay now. It's okay. Lara, I know it hurts. Everything hurts and nothing makes sense, but it's gonna be okay. I promise. It's gonna get better. Lara, it's okay now. Shh, it's gonna be okay." Connor wiped away the tears on her cheeks and pushed her hair back. He kept touching her, gently, repeating her name over and over again.

Buffy looked away, disturbed, and noticed the group surrounding her. Faith and Giles stood behind her. And Angel. Angel wasn't looking at her. He was staring at Connor. His face looked like it was carved in stone.

Feeling her gaze, Angel turned to her. They stared at each other then he nodded stiffly at Lara. "She'll be fine."

Connor continued whispering, his voice low, soft, gentle. Then he stopped.

"I…I wanna go home," Lara whispered.

Connor stood and held out his hand. "Okay, let's get you home." Lara stared at his hand almost like she'd never seen one before then tentatively grasped it, letting him pull her up. Connor looped his arm around her shoulders, gently guiding her forward. They walked past everyone, his gaze never leaving hers, anchoring her as they walked out of the hall.

"Buffy?" Spike said, holding out his hand to her. She took his offer, standing up and leaning against him, careful to keep pressure off her injured ankle. She peered around him, watching Connor and Lara walk away.

"So where's home? Are we talking big city or…" Connor's voice trailed off as they walked out of earshot. Angel followed them at a distance.

"So…" Spike said, shaking his head. "Where's the Immortal Wanker?"

"He's gone," Buffy replied, looking down at the orb in her hand.

He huffed in disappointment. "I didn't even get to maim him or cut off a limb. One arm. One bloody arm. Is that too much to ask?"

Buffy absently patted his shoulder, looking at the open doors Connor and Lara had disappeared through. "Next time."

"It won't be the same."

"I know."

"Buffy, we've got trouble!" Faith shouted from near the window. She turned and ran up the side stairs leading to the balcony terrace to get a better look. "What do they call cops in Italian? 'Cause we've got a lot of 'em coming our way. From every which way. We're surrounded. And when I say a lot, I mean an army. What do you call an army of cops in Italian?"

"Arm-ay of op-cays. Wait, no. That's not right. Rmy-ay…" Xander muttered.

"And the Immortal's political connections raise their Medusa-like heads," Giles noted. "I'm sure if we explain why we've murdered a prominent Italian citizen and all of his personal guard, they'll be completely sympathetic and understanding."

"Giles – not helping," Buffy said sharply.

"Alright, I'll hide the fifty demon bodies on the right. Doe eyes -" Spike nodded up at Faith. "-can hide the fifty on the left. All the other Slayer-types are on clean-up duty. You'll supervise, of course," Spike added, giving Buffy a look. "Now, everyone start looking for hundreds of gallons of bleach."

"Everyone making with the witty because we're screwed – not helping!" Buffy snapped.

"Yeah, because wasting time – not a good idea," Willow added, joining the group with an arm supporting Kennedy who looked pale underneath her natural tan.

"So anyone got any bright ideas? Besides running away. 'Cause I'm gonna vote no for running," Kennedy said weakly. "I'd vote no for running even if I thought I could run right now."

"Will, can you teleport us out of here?" Buffy asked.

"No, there's too many of you. And I'm kinda not at my best. I couldn't guarantee we'd all arrive safely. Plus not materializing inside a mountain is a personal goal of mine." Willow scrunched her forehead. "And keeping us safe, that's the priority, right?"

"Yes. A big yes to keeping us safe," Buffy answered.

Willow stepped away from Kennedy and closed her eyes, straining to concentrate. A tense minute passed before they shot open, midnight black. "_Forget_," she said, her voice echoing.

Buffy shivered, feeling the power from Willow's voice leeching past the edges of her mind. She shared an uncomfortable look with Spike.

"Willow," Giles snapped. "You didn't have to-"

"We ran out of time!" Willow said. "And it's over now. They were two seconds away from arresting Angel and Connor. You couldn't see!"

"And Lara…" Buffy said beneath her breath.

Willow raised an eyebrow. "Only one way that was gonna end. Badly. Now they don't remember why they were even coming here."

"She's right. They're lighting outta here," Faith called, coming back down the stairs and rejoining the group. She stopped to pick up the Scythe lying on the floor. "The reverse 911 worked like a charm."

"At what cost? What else don't they remember?" Giles asked sharply.

Buffy let go of Spike's arm and hopped in between Giles and Willow, careful to not put pressure on her right ankle. "Stop! It's done. We can't change it, so we've gotta deal," she said, raising her hands up. She waited until both Willow and Giles looked away before continuing. "We've gotta deal," she repeated. "Giles, there's gotta be some kind of records or files or something holed up in here. Find it. We're taking it with us. Xander, help-"

"I'm already on it," he said, pulling together a group of Slayers to help the wounded.

"Faith-"

"I'm helping Xan," she tossed over her shoulder, already turning to follow Xander. She stopped, turned around and handed the Scythe back to Buffy. "Here's your toy back, B. Drives like a dream."

Buffy absorbed the surge of power from gripping the Scythe. The rightness of it in her hand pushed away pain, every bang and bruise dulling down under the soft hum of power surging through her. "Don't I know it," she said, smiling. Turning to Willow, she asked, "Are you up to helping heal? Is it…is it too much?"

"I'm okay."

"Yeah, of course you are – okay, I mean," Buffy answered. "It's just a lot and I didn't want to…to ask you to do too much."

Willow blinked, shook her head and went to go help the injured Slayers.

"So I guess that leaves me with clean-up duty," Spike mused. "Don't suppose you'd let me burn the whole place down?"

Buffy cocked her head and looked around at the lavish room decked out in expensive décor. "It seems like such a waste. Maybe we could, I dunno…"

Spike shook his head. "No. It's like blood money. Never ends well. Place like this, the evil seeps into every fiber of the carpet. It stinks to high hell in here. Rotting away from the inside. Place like this changes you."

"No, we wouldn't want that," she said quietly.

"Better to burn it. Cover our tracks. Nothing here worth taking."

She nodded slowly. "Yeah, burn it."

******


	27. Chapter 27

Her ankle felt funny. Like crunched Styrofoam, disconnected from feeling, incomplete. There was no pain. Shouldn't there be pain?

A knock on the door and then Lara peeked around the door's edge, hands fidgeting. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," Buffy said slowly, feeling disoriented.

Lara sat down on the corner of Buffy's bed, careful to avoid jarring Buffy's leg propped up on a stack of pillows. "You feeling any better?" She leaned forward and brushed back the hair that had fallen over Buffy's forehead.

"I guess so. My head kinda hurts." She struggled to sit up, then huffed a breath at her tangled hair. "The worst part about slaying? Hair wear and tear." She ran her fingers through the gnarled clump, grimacing when her hand caught in the snarl.

"Want me to…?" Lara nodded at the brush sitting on the bedside table.

Shifting her leg off the pillows and moving into a more comfortable position, Buffy scooched forward to let Lara sit behind her. She winced at the first rough pull.

"Sorry! I didn't…sorry," Lara exclaimed.

Abandoning the brush, Lara began to untangle Buffy's hair with her fingers, gently pulling. One hand encircled a handful of blonde hair, bracing it against the scalp to dampen the pressure against the roots. Her hands breezed against the nape of Buffy's neck and the tips of her ears. Picking up the brush, Lara began to comb the bristles through, sliding smoothly back and down. Back and down. Buffy closed her eyes, relishing the massaging motion. The bristles rasped against her scalp, gliding down to brush the back of her neck and the top of her shoulders. Her head dropped forward, chin bumping her chest. Heart slowing, she breathed in deeply and exhaled.

"Better?"

Buffy nodded, humming. The brush kept dancing, pulling weight off Buffy's temples and dropping it to the floor. It was perfect. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this relaxed.

Time passed. She might have dozed, she wasn't sure, but the hand on her shoulder jarred her eyes open. The brush had stopped. Looking over her shoulder, she eyed the brush in Lara's hand expectantly.

"Would you do me, too?" Lara asked.

Swallowing, Buffy nodded reluctantly. Lara smiled and crawled to the side, turning to let Buffy switch spots with her. Reaching back, she handed the brush to Buffy. Her hair was blonde and shiny and familiar. Buffy wondered if it even felt the same as her own. Raising her hand tentatively, she scooped a section of hair back over Lara's shoulder. It was soft and smelled like jasmine. Pretty.

Grasping the hair firmly, Buffy pulled it up and into the air. The handle of the brush went heavy in her hand, sharpening, darkening, morphing. The bristles flashed silver and melted flat into a jagged edge. Pulling harshly on the hair, her knuckles popped. Sawing back and forth, she watched the blonde strands break away from the scalp. The blade swiped too close to skin and red stained blonde. She'd always loved painting pretty colors. Rouge on her cheeks, bright splashed on her eyelids, lips stained to a bright sheen.

"Buffy…?"

"No talking," Buffy said absently, continuing to slice away at the blonde hair.

Shoulders tensing, Lara shivered. "Buffy, please I don't-"

Ripping Lara's head back, she snarled, "I said _no_ talking."

Hands clutching her sides, Lara hugged herself. Her shoulders shook. "You still don't trust me, do you? You're never gonna-"

"Keep your head straight," Buffy instructed, holding another large section of hair and sawing the blade across the base. Silken strands fell to the bedspread. A piece of hair floated close to Buffy's face and she blew at it, sending it flying across the bed and to the floor.

A muffled sob sent Lara's shoulders heaving.

"Are you crying?" Buffy shoved Lara down, pushing her over to stare at her tear stained face. "Are you sad now? Oh, poor little girl. Your life is _so_ hard. No one understands you. Wah wah wah. You think you're the only one who's lost someone. You don't get to feel sorry for yourself. Get it?" Buffy waved the blade in Lara's face. "You don't get to cry!" She slapped Lara. Hard. "Stop crying! Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Raising the blade up, she held it over Lara's stomach. "Shut up or I'll-"

"You'll gut me, B?" Faith asked, leaning up to let the tip of the blade graze her midriff. "You really wanna go there again? Yeah, of course you do. You liked it, didn't you? The way it slid into me like butter. Easy. Having me gone made your life easy. Come on, B. Do it. You know you want to. Do it. Do it."

"Shut up," Buffy said, shaking her head. The blade vibrated in her hand.

"This is how you solve your problems, right? When you can't ignore something, you have to kill it. That's the only way to fix this. Fix us. Gotta bury it deep. It'll make everything better, big sis. Come on. Make it quick. You know, I could never tell you before, but…" Her voice lowered to a whisper. "A part of me always wanted it, too."

Buffy licked her lips.

"Come on, B, give it to me. Take me there with you." Faith reached for Buffy's hand and started pushing the blade against her belly. "We can do it together."

Buffy gasped as she felt the blade penetrate skin. Her spine fired sparks up and down her back. Hands tingling, she shoved the blade in deep.

"That…wow, I wasn't ready for that," Willow said, staring at the Scythe's sticking out of her chest. "You think you're ready, you know? You wait over two hundred years for this moment and then when it happens…" Tears pooled, distorting the black of her eyes. "It hurts, Buffy. It really hurts."

"I'm sorry. You wouldn't let me go. I had to…Oh, god," Buffy cried, pulling the Scythe out of Willow's chest. "I didn't want to hurt you." She pressed a hand down on the bloody, gaping hole in Willow's chest. "Will? Willow? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to hurt you." A stake appeared in her hand, the pointed end pressing down against Spike's chest. She tried to pull away, but her hand refused to move. "Please, I don't want to hurt you," she whispered.

Spike ran a finger along the back of her clenched fist, looking up at her with a gently understanding. "Then don't."

"I'm trying."

"Try harder."

She focused all of her being into lifting her hand. Her arm shook, but her hand kept inching down, pressing the hard point into Spike's heart. "I'm sorry," she gasped as the stake plunged, turning flesh into ash.

"No!"

Her hand flew out, smacking against the back of the passenger seat. She jerked her head up and looked around the cramped back seat, the black upholstery seeming unfamiliar under the sleep fog covering her. Her hand brushed against the jeans covering her legs. Where did those come from?

"Buffy?"

Spike's voice whipped her head around. He sat next to her, eyebrows lowered, expression worried and confused. Her hand shot out, splaying across his chest. Real. He was real. She bit back a whimper.

Looking away, she squinting out into the darkness through the car window. "What…? Where are we?"

"Somewhere in Scotland." He shrugged, unable to answer further.

"We're almost home, Buff," Xander said from the driver's seat of the SUV, looking at her through the rearview mirror.

"You fell asleep on the plane," Spike explained. "Thought you could use the rest."

Nodding, she slumped back against Spike's shoulder, letting her head lie on his chest. Her hand crept up to rest next to her cheek. "Rest would be nice."

"How's your ankle doing, love?" Spike whispered against her hair.

She tested it, bending her foot back and forth. "It's surprisingly pain-free. Willow?"

"Yeah. Red finally had a look-see while you were out for the count."

She frowned into his chest, eyes closed. "I wish she hadn't."

"Let's watch it with the 'W' word back there," Xander called.

"Healing magic is white magic, anyways. Of all the million things on your list to worry about, I wouldn't bother with that."

Buffy snorted. Opening her eyes, she looked at the back of Xander's head and then glanced up at Spike. "So…what'd you guys talk about while I was asleep?"

Spike smirked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Not much to say," Xander said. "Oh hey, you're not dead. And I still don't like you. Hurt Buffy and you'll be dust quicker than I can say 'spackle'."

Spike rolled his eyes. "No need to hide your true feelings. Buffy won't think less of you for crying at my glorious return." He hugged her close. "She understands how just being in my presence inspires tears of joy, don't you, love?"

She pinched him in the ribs, but kept her forehead pressed into his chest. The car slowed and turned down a long drive, passing through open gates.

"Home, sweet home," Spike muttered. "Why Scotland of all places? You know the people up here are bonkers."

"It just kinda worked out this way. Besides, remote is good. People leave us alone."

"Remote is boring. And remote Scotland is mind-numbing."

"Well, gee, Spike. Sounds like you won't be staying long," Xander mocked.

Spike grinned widely, baring his teeth. "Oh, I'd hate to make you fight back the manly tears. Couldn't bear to cause you pain."

Buffy reached down to grasp Spike's hand, turning it over to trace the lines of his palm. "Plus I'm here. That should count for something."

"That it does," Spike said quietly.

The car pulled to a stop and Buffy stepped out to find Dawn standing on the front steps of the manor. She rushed forward and threw her arms around Buffy. "You're okay! Xander told me you were all beat up." She leaned back to inspect her sister. "You don't look beat up. Don't tell me you were playing the 'I'm wounded, poor me' card."

"I missed you, too," Buffy said, smiling. "How'd it go while we were gone?"

"Great. Awesome. Um, there might have been a slight emergency that required more shopping therapy, but I swear we only bought stuff that was on sale." Dawn's eyes went wide. "Spike!" She pushed past Buffy to tackle him in a hug.

Spike laughed, his smile showing his surprise as his arms slowly returned her spontaneous embrace. "And who's this tall, dark and gorgeous lady?"

Dawn stepped back to grin at him. "I'm _four_ inches taller than Buffy now."

"Practically an Amazon, eh?"

"You are not four inches taller than me," Buffy protested.

"Am, too."

"Are _not_."

"Jealous much? You know, inadequacy issues are a serious psychological condition."

"Don't Psych 101 me. I aced that class."

"You got a 'B'. Willow told me."

"Willow talks too much."

Xander walked up to stand next to Spike. "Still glad you're back?"

"Nowhere else I'd rather be," Spike said. "Sorry to disappoint. Except for the being sorry part. I lied about that."

Xander clapped him on the shoulder. "Follow me. I've got a room all ready for you. Nice eastern exposure. I hope the girls remembered to put up those lacy curtains that don't keep the sun out."

"That's okay, Xander. He's staying with me," Buffy jumped in.

"Right. Okay then. Yeah, that's…"

Dawn grabbed Xander by the arm and pulled him up the stairs. "Come on, I'll get you up to speed on all the exciting stuff you missed. Andrew was annoying. I went shopping. We slayed a huge nest of vamps. Okay, you're caught up. Now tell me about Rome!"

Buffy followed them up the steps, Spike at her side, only to stop and turn, looking out at the driveway behind them. A parade of headlights were driving towards the house. She let out a deep sigh.

"You okay?" Spike asked, brushing his thumb against her cheek.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired."

She watched shadowed figures pile out of the cars parked along the drive. Giles, Willow, Kennedy, Faith, Angel, Connor. Lara. Buffy looked down. The sound of cursing brought her head up.

"Get the fuck off me!" Simone yelled, struggling as Faith and Kennedy pulled her up the driveway.

"Take her down into the cellar," Giles said.

Simone swung her elbow, clipping Faith in the chin.

"Easier said than done," Faith said, grunting. She fought to keep her hold on Simone. "A little help here!"

Spike stepped forward and punched Simone in the jaw, knocking her unconscious.

"Yeah, okay. Not exactly what I was looking for," Faith said.

"Worked, didn't it?" He shrugged, stepping aside to let her and Kennedy carry Simone into the house.

Buffy backed away, watching everyone walk into the house. She followed at a distance, staring at Faith and Kennedy as they carried Simone downstairs, Connor and Lara right behind them. She just couldn't…no. Turning abruptly, she walked outside. She stared at the long driveway before striding in the opposite direction towards the lake on the east side of the manor. Standing at the lake's edge, she kicked a pebble into the water and watched the ripples. The moon shone across the water, reflecting a blue light that floated around the air. She thought about diving in and holding her breath underneath the water's surface. Just to see how long she could hold it. She bet she could hold it for a really long time.

"It's peaceful here," Angel said, standing behind her.

Buffy jerked her shoulder in response, but didn't answer. She stared at the water, but kept seeing disturbing images from her dream mixing in with memories of the past few days. Angel walked forward to stand next to her. They stood in silence for ten minutes.

"You've been quieter than usual," Buffy finally said. "Barring the whole not-talking-across-continents thing we had going for the past year. Ever since I showed up in LA…"

"I haven't had much to say."

"Oh, I doubt that."

He laughed to himself. "I don't have much to say that I think you'd listen to."

"I don't know how to fix this. How did you fix it?"

"Fix what?"

"Life. My life. Everything's just…wrong." She turned to look at him. "When you were running that big organization and it went all kablooey. How did you...?"

"Uh, I started a fight I knew I couldn't win. Got the entire city sent to hell for a few months. I had to sacrifice myself in order to undo it."

"Oh." She paused and turned to look back at the water. "I don't wanna do that."

"I wasn't recommending it." Another minute passed before Angel asked, "When did things go wrong? Maybe you can start there."

"Things have been going wrong for so long, I can't tell when it all started."

"When's the last time you can remember things going right?"

She closed her eyes, trying to remember. "When we closed the Hellmouth. When all the Potentials became Slayers. I could feel it. The power. It wasn't just the Hellmouth going down. It was..." She shook her head, unable to explain the knowledge and excitement of that moment when the world was full and bright and ready to be won.

"And after that? When did it start to go wrong?"

"Well, robbing that bank was a low point."

"You _robbed_ a bank?"

"Uh, uh, it was - I had to! I had Slayers coming out of the woodworks. Sleeping on the floor. And then I was running out of woodworks for them to sleep on. They were going out at night unarmed. Living off of Ramen noodles and have you seen how much a house full of Slayers eat? We were barely scraping by and Willow was off doing god-knows-what in South America and Giles was gone and the bills kept coming and we couldn't pay them and the power got turned off and, and...We needed money to live and we were demon hunting 24/7. So, well, Andrew was doing an Ocean's 11, 12 and 13 marathon and I thought 'Hey, Clooney, he's hot' and..." she shrugged helplessly.

"Did you only watch the first movie?"

She nodded.

"So you missed the part in the second movie where stealing all that money comes back to bite them in the ass?"

Eyes impossibly wide, she said sheepishly, "Did I mention that the power got turned off...?" A deep sigh. "I guess I should have known it was a bad idea when Andrew and Xander started talking about how sexy it would be. I really need to stop watching stuff with Andrew… except for Veronica Mars. I love that show."

Angel gave her a suspicious look, clearly not recognizing the show, but questioning her choice nonetheless.

She continued, "Hey, it's not like Veronica breaks the law without good reason. Yeah, sure, she kidnapped a baby. But the baby belonged with her real father, plus Meg's parents were child abusers. It was just. A just crime. The system is broken! Sometimes, it is," she insisted.

Angel nodded. "Yeah, I agree. You really do need to stop watching stuff with Andrew."

Her shoulders slumped. "Weren't you supposed to be helping or something?"

"I never claimed to have all the answers."

"Oh, well, that's great," Buffy said, tossing her hands in the air. "Why are you even here spoiling my alone moping time if you're not gonna help me?"

"I came to say goodbye."

She stilled, shocked. Angel never wanted to say goodbye. Saying goodbye was too final.

Reaching up, he touched her face. "You're so strong, Buffy. You'll figure it out."

She shook her head. "I don't even know where to start."

"Take it one step at a time. Start small. You'll find your way. You always do."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, that's it." He turned and walked away.

"Angel?" She waited for him to pause and turn to look at her. "Goodbye."

He didn't answer. She wondered what else there was left to say as they stared at each other. Then he was gone.

"Have a nice moment alone?" Spike asked a few minutes later, walking up to stand next to her. The faintest tinge of jealousy colored his voice.

Buffy didn't answer. She just slipped her arms around his waist and leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around her, leaning down to kiss her hair.

"What am I gonna do?"

"About what?"

"Everything."

"Need you to narrow that down for me, pet."

"I don't feel strong," she whispered. "I feel tired. I have no idea what I'm doing anymore. I don't know how to fix this."

"You sure something needs fixing?"

She nodded.

"Then you'll do it. You never give up. Never stop trying. You'll follow your heart and everything else will fall into place. You can do this. Whatever 'this' is."

"I don't think I can."

"Funny. I know you can."

******


	28. Chapter 28

The shadow dropped from the ceiling, covering Buffy in a cold black shroud.

_No friends. No one, but the One. Only blood. Death. Alone. Fight alone._

The shadow gripped her throat, sliding up to cup her jaw and force her mouth open. Black shadow siphoned down her throat, choking her, ripping her esophagus raw. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. The dark settled in her chest, dripping down into her belly, sifting through her veins. She felt it from the tips of her toes and fingers, from the deepest recesses of her body to the surface hair singing fire on her skin. She was suffocating. Drowning. She stopped breathing and discovered she didn't need air anymore. Her skin hardened and turned black, like the charred outer layers of an ancient oak rotting from the inside. The oak stood tall and distorted, roots shaken from the Earth, no longer giving life to, only offering shadows in the forest.

She was death. The bringer of darkness. She _was_ darkness. And it was good. It was right. It was pure.

Let them come. Let them stand against her. They would fall beneath her fury.

She was the Slayer.

"No," Buffy whimpered, kicking out in her sleep. Her eyes shot open. She panted jagged breathes, hands shaking against her chest. She was curled into a tight ball, clutching a cool arm encircling her waist.

Spike.

She turned to look over her shoulder and found him in a deep sleep, unmoving. Peaceful. Her bedroom was pitch-black save for the blue light creeping in under the curtains. She slipped out from under Spike's grasp, walking forward and pulling the edge of the curtain back. The sun was rising. She could feel it roaming beneath the horizon. She pulled the curtains tightly shut. They were a heavy damask and newly hung for her new roommate.

A moment passed, then Buffy leaned over the bed and gently brushed her fingers across his forehead and down his temple. Sighing, she left her room and shut the door behind her. Let him have his peaceful sleep.

The kitchen was huge, foreign and eerily silent. It took her ten minutes to find the coffee and another ten to find the filters. Shouldn't they be together? The smell of hot coffee brewing drifted up, permeating the air with a heavy earthiness. Logic guiding her, she opened the cabinet above the coffeemaker and found an array of mugs. She chose the simple cream mug without adornment, passing over the novelty mugs covered in cute animals and catchphrases that shouted 'Numero Uno', 'Kiss the Librarian' and 'Talk to me before I drink this and I will SLAY you'. She was _this_ close to choosing the last one, but her dark mood was already painted on her sleeve. She didn't need it on her mug, too.

Coffee in hand, she drifted to the kitchen alcove and sat at the small round table, leaning down to take a tentative sip of her too hot drink.

"Do you want to be alone?"

Buffy gasped, half-choking on the hot coffee burning the back of her mouth. A girl with heavy spiked blades of purple hair gelled to shoot in all directions sat in the corner of the bench seat at the window, her knees pulled up against her chest. She wore an oversized Stanford sweatshirt that hung off her shoulders, the bunched folds pulled down to hide her hands.

"No, it's okay," Buffy said politely, looking down at her hands. "You were here first."

"It's not like that really matters," the girl murmured, looking down at her lap.

Looking up, Buffy blinked then squinted. "Lara?"

"Yeah?"

"Your…" _hair is purple_ "…you're up early."

"You, too. Trouble sleeping?" Her mouth quirked. "Yeah, it's fun, huh?"

"Yeah. Fun…"

A silence fell between them, sinking down to rest heavy on their shoulders, bending their heads towards the floor. Buffy tried to think of everything she needed to say to Lara, apologies and a promise to try harder from now on. The words circled her mind without landing in her voice. Instead, she blurted out, "You cut your hair."

Lara fingered a purple strand lying against her cheek and smiled. "Yep."

"And it's…it's…"

"Purple," she supplied, her smile growing.

"Yeah. It's purple," Buffy echoed. "…_Very_ purple."

"You like it?"

"Uh..."

"Yeah, I thought you wouldn't." Lara laughed. "I think it's awesome. I figured it's the last thing you'd do. You seem pretty stuck on the whole California blonde thing. Plus I always wanted to dye my hair a crazy color. Just never found a reason, I guess."

"And you thought now was a good time to go radioactive fuschia?"

"Why not?" Lara shrugged. "Willow undid the glamour that made me look like you and I thought about going back to my natural color. Except I couldn't remember what my shade was. Ash brown, golden brown, dark brown, blah brown, too many browns… It can't hurt to try something new. I might try blue next. Or pink."

"That's, uh, drastic."

"Drastic can be good. Sometimes you just have to start over. Sometimes it all just goes so crazy, you need to go drastic." Lara pulled on the strand of purple hair, twisting it around her finger. "It's not exactly a clean slate, but… I'm trying."

"I… I didn't realize you knew your way around here. I don't even know where the nearest drug store is. To buy hair dye, I mean."

"Connor got it for me." She picked at the sleeves of the oversized grey sweatshirt.

"Oh. That's… that was nice of him."

"Yeah. He's nice." Lara licked her lips nervously. "So, how's Spike?"

"He's good. Very good. Sleeping. It's daylight and, you know, vampire, so of course he's sleeping. Who in their right minds isn't sleeping right now besides farmers and nurses on third shift? Not that you're not in your… I mean… Would you like some coffee with way too much sugar?"

"No, thanks," Lara replied, standing. "I think I'm gonna go for a walk. Get some fresh air. Oh, a delivery guy came a little while ago. There's a package for you." She nodded at the desk in the corner where a flat rectangular box sat. "I almost opened it by accident. I guess I got too used to your name. Sorry."

"Me, too."

"Huh?"

"I mean I'm sorry, too."

"It's okay," Lara reassured.

"It's really not," Buffy breathed.

"It'll _be_ okay, then."

"Will it?"

"Yeah, it will," Lara said simply, turning and walking out of the back door, the door shutting behind her quietly.

Buffy stared down at the coffee mug, spinning it lightly in her hands to set the liquid swirling. She lost sight within the whirlpool of dark brown, her head leaning to the side to watch the coffee settle back to an even keel. Pushing the mug away, she moved to grab the package on the desk. She returned to her seat at the table, ripping the perfectly taped seams open. Another smaller box rested within, a letter on top of it addressed in an elegant script to 'Miss Buffy Summers'.

A twinge sparked at the back of her neck and traveled down her spine. She lifted the letter and turned it over, thumbing the red wax seal engraved with the symbol of a figure-eight. She slipped her finger under the edge and pulled the flap up.

_Miss Summers,_

_First, I must begin with my apologies. There are many and the foremost being my elaborate deception. Yet I must remind you that it was you who began this game. You who sought to deceive me with your __doppelgänger__. I thought it fitting to let you slip the noose around your neck and watch it coil ever tighter. I waited for the moment when you would realize your error. That moment never came. And so I took a more active role. Nor is it the one you believe yourself to understand. For, even now, you understand little of what has come to pass. _

_A man came to see me. A man in a mask. Never trust those who hide their true face. Secrets worn brazenly are married to a ruthless ambition. I know this truth well. Never trust such a man who offers you exactly what you want. The appearance of interests aligning is illusory. A manipulation to cover another agenda. Suspicion, once raised, leads a curious mind to follow. I have many ways of discovering secrets and in following the mask, I discovered secrets that you needed to know. _

_The tide turned and so action was taken to bring light to your eyes. To shake you free from your silent sleep. The world was changing and you stood still. It was past time you were awakened. The world is turning against you and you wait for what? A reprieve? Understanding is never given to those who live secret lives. You were blind to humanity falling prey to your oldest enemy, the vampire. Humanity and Slayers fell and you would not see. A whisper to Lara that you were in Rome and a suggestive hint. And thus you were distracted and redirected away from your Slayer power games to see the victims falling by the way side. _

_The evil spreading is not of my design. I have no thirst to end your line. I have no thirst left in me. You needed an enemy to defeat and lead you back to firmer ground. Have I not given you much in return for bringing me absolution? Merciful death for restoring your vision – it is more than fair._

_Look around you. The battle is already being won. The world wants you gone. The game has changed. You are the one who changed it, yet you continue to fight as you've always done. You defeated the villain, me, the Immortal, and what has it gained you? Nothing. For the world is against you. How can you hope to save a world that wishes you crushed beneath its boot?_

_You were easy to manipulate. Do you know why? You have surrounded yourself in darkness. You jump at shadows, mistaking ally for enemy. You have lost your way. There will always be those who seek to misguide you. Remove yourself from their machinations. One honest voice rings out among a thousand liars. Be the clarion call. You must recapture your message. Your mission. Your world. Be the hero the world needs. You are the Warrior of Light. Your righteous fist cannot waver. Strength for strength. You do not belong in my middle ground. It will swallow you whole. When you compromise yourself, you doom humanity. _

_The end is nigh, Slayer. Will you be ready for Twilight? _

_P.S. I have enclosed something that belongs to you. My apologies yet again. _

Buffy read the letter again, pushing down her automatic resentment and forcing herself to process the words and the meaning behind them. Her gut twisted. It was all another game. That sick bastard. That know-it-all bastard. Folding the letter and stuffing it back into the envelope, she pulled the lid off the smaller box. It was filled with dozens of letters and postcards. Some were short, scribbled messages of "I'm missing you. Always." or "I saw this and thought of you." She rubbed her finger across the familiar script. Spike's handwriting.

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she laid the letters on the table, reading one after the other. She snorted and rubbed away the moisture on her cheek with the back of her hand. Love letters. How Victorian of him. Unrequited love letters. She'd have answered if she'd only known…

First Giles, then the Immortal. People were working overtime to keep her and Spike apart. She saw him sleeping in her bed in her mind's eye. The joke was on them.

"Whoa, sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt… whatever it is you're doing."

"Good morning, Faith," Buffy drawled, still looking down at the letters in her hands.

"Morning. I'll just, uh, let you get back to it." Faith pointed over her shoulder, gesturing that she would leave. Her shirt was ripped at the hem, her cheeks smudged in dirt. She'd just come back from slaying. Or partying too hard. No, it was slaying. Buffy smelled the dust on her hands.

"No, wait. Stay. There was something I wanted to talk about with you." She tilted her head towards the empty chair next to her. "Please."

Faith sat gingerly on the edge of the seat, her eyes measuring Buffy's mood and coming away blank and confused. "That's a lot of letters."

Buffy smiled inwardly at the attempt at small talk. "Yeah, it is. They took a while to get here."

"I've never been a big fan of letters. If you can't say it in person, what's the point? It's the being there that counts, you know."

Buffy nodded. "Yeah. Otherwise the message gets lost."

"Yeah, I guess. If you say so."

Time to move past the small talk. "What are you doing here, Faith?"

Faith jerked back in her chair, tossing her hands up. "Whoa, okay. I'm here to help. I get that you don't like me around, but I thought… Is it always gonna be like this?"

"No," Buffy said, sighing. "I mean, are you staying? Are you planning on staying?"

"Have I worn out my welcome?" Faith leaned forward to glare at Buffy. "You want me gone, just say it. I don't wanna be stepping on your prissy toes."

"I don't want you to leave." Buffy shook her head. "I just wanna understand why you're here. What you want out of all of this."

"What do I _want_? What do you _think_ I want? I wanna help. Why can't you just accept that I've changed?" Faith sounded hurt.

Buffy closed her eyes and breathed deeply. This was harder than she'd thought it would be. She opened her eyes and asked, "Will you help me?"

******


	29. Chapter 29

The steps heading down into the cellar were giving her the creeps. Buffy took a deep breath – her chin rose, her neck straightened. Then she swallowed the lump in her throat. The lump fell heavy, smothering the butterflies flitting in her stomach. This was a bad idea.

Her feet cautiously searched for firm ground, feeling for each stair's edge. She followed the path of grayish light trickling in from the upper door which met the faint haze entering the cellar from the half-windows at the top edges where the stone walls sunk below ground. Or maybe the light turned gray once it got inside. It couldn't have been gray before. The air was musky, filled with tinges of dust, mold and…wine? She spied the bottles of wine in the far corner. Giles must have been ecstatic in a British way that didn't outwardly show his glee when he found them.

Buffy stopped in front of the door in the back corner. Inside was a storage room, bigger than a broom closet or a small bathroom, but not by much. She pulled an old iron key from her pocket and unlocked the door, pushing it open tentatively. The room had no windows. The light shining across her back outlined her form on the wall in front of her. She squinted, trying to adjust to the darkness in the room. Her shoulders twitched and she quickly stepped forward and to the side, letting the light enter the dark room through the doorway.

Why hadn't they put a lamp in here? Why hadn't she thought to bring one with her?

Shackles rattled against copper pipes in the opposite corner.

"You finally came down for a visit. That's sweet. I didn't know you cared," Simone drawled.

"Does that matter to you?" Buffy asked, searching the darkness to better see Simone. "If I care?"

"Sounds like psychobabble bullshit to me." Simone scraped her head back against the wall, slumping down into the corner. "Why don't you cut to the chase? You finally got the balls to do it, huh?"

"Do what?"

"I've had nothing but time to think about it. You can't let me go. You wouldn't. Nobody else can handle me, right? Plus you made me. I done wrong and Mom's gotta bring the beatdown. I'm _your_ problem. And it took you this long to come down here because you didn't like what you knew you had to do."

"You think I'm here to kill you?"

Simone's head fell forward till her chin bumped against her chest. Her hands brushed against the shaved sides of her scalp, gripping the hanging chains overhead that forced her into a crouch in the corner. "Why else would you be here?"

"Maybe you're right." Buffy reached behind her and pulled a knife from the waist of her slacks. She lifted the blade up and watched it flash in the faint light from the doorway. "But I have a few questions for you first."

Simone snorted. "And why would I tell you jackshit?"

"Maybe it'll save your life," Buffy said, shrugging.

"Okay. I'll play," Simone chuckled, the sound barren of mirth. "What does her Royal Bossiness wanna know?"

"What were you doing with the Immortal? How did you know him?"

"We met. Wrong time, wrong place. For me, at least. I got… I got caught. One heist too many. He bailed me out. For a favor. There's always a catch."

"What did you do for him?"

"He wanted a Slayer on the payroll. The money was good. Really good."

"But what did you _do_?"

"He called it tying up loose ends. It was just more slaying. I hunted down some demons he wanted out of the picture. And…"

"And what?"

"Well, you had a front row seat for it, didn't you? Tried taking back any other islands off the coast of Italy recently?" The sharp edge to Simone's laugh bounced off the walls. "He wanted the island under new management. It was old mafia territory before we took over."

"You killed them," Buffy concluded. Her gut twisted at the realization. "You led your Slayers in there and you…"

"Yeah, people died. Some of _my_ people died. My people died 'cause we _weren't_ supposed to kill anybody, just strong-arm 'em. We're lucky we had really strong arms."

"Why? Why would he…?"

"I dunno," Simone said, scoffing. "And I didn't care. He said I'd get hotwired into the real power around here if I did him a few favors. A guy like that, you believe it. Except I wasn't expecting you to come sniffing around."

"But he was," Buffy said slowly. "He knew I'd show up, that I'd come looking for you."

"Whatever. Should've figured you'd put your nose in it. You just can't let anyone have fun, can you? Everything's gotta be done your way. 'Cause every other way is wrong if it's not _your _way." Simone jerked against her chains, banging her head against the wall in frustration.

Buffy stared at the top of Simone's head bent down, trying to imagine the vibrant pink of her mohawk in the shadows. She gave up. She still couldn't see clearly in here. "I read up on you," she mused. "Bits and pieces at first. But there was enough to get an idea. Where you came from, what you want-"

"Sounds exciting," Simone interrupted. "And yay, more psychobabble. Why don't we skip the bullshit reflections and just go straight to the verdict?"

"I like reflections. They're all… reflecty."

"That's 'cause you're a vain, know-it-all bitch," Simone sneered.

"Ouch. You been practicing that line? Might wanna try going with a little more disdain next time. Really put your heart into it. You gotta sell it if you wanna make 'em run away crying." Buffy tilted her head. "What? No witty comeback?"

"Fuck you."

"Yeah, anyways," Buffy said, raising her eyebrows dismissively. "I read up on you. Your family. Your childhood. You had it rough growing up. Your mom died when you were twelve. Your dad lived part-time on unemployment, full-time on the alcohol. Did he hit you? Your teachers thought he was hitting you, but there wasn't enough proof."

"You don't _know_ me."

"No, I don't know you. Not really. I have no idea what your favorite color is though I'm gonna guess hot pink," Buffy said, glancing at Simone's hair. "I don't know how old you were when you had your first kiss. Or what you wanted to be when you grew up. I don't know all that stuff. The little things that make you different. Special. I don't know you. Not the real you." Buffy walked forward and crouched in front of Simone. She unlocked Simone's shackles and stood up. Stepping back a few paces, she dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the floor in front of Simone. "I don't know you, but I'm looking to find out. You ready to show me who you are?"

A tense moment passed, Simone's eyes flicking up at Buffy and down at the knife. She lunged forward, grabbing the knife and jumping up. The tip of the blade touched Buffy's neck, pressing down without piercing skin.

"You scared now?" Simone snarled, her body shaking.

"No," Buffy answered calmly, never flinching. She forced her hands to stay relaxed at her sides. She bit back every instinct inside her screaming to grab the knife, twist Simone's arm and beat her back. Instead, she exhaled. "'Cause I don't think you'll do it. You don't want to, do you? You don't wanna be a killer. Even though you're headed in that direction. You don't _want_ it."

Simone's arm shook, her body jerking forward to push the blade while her arm pushed back, resisting. "I fucking hate you, you bitch!"

"I know. You hate me. You hate you. You hate everybody. There's no one you can count on. You're alone…" Buffy swallowed, feeling the blade shake against her throat. "Except you're not. You're not alone, Simone. You're _not_ alone. I care what happens to you. I think you wanna be more. And you can be. I believe that."

"I'm gonna kill you," Simone said, her voice shaking.

"Go ahead," Buffy whispered. "What's stopping you?"

A guttural moan escaped Simone's throat. She turned and stabbed the knife into the wall, punching the stone before falling to her knees. A quiet keening broke out only to be ruthlessly muffled before it could turn into a sob. Her shoulders heaved.

"You're not a killer, Simone," Buffy said softly.

Simone chuckled darkly and looked at Buffy over her shoulder, hands braced on her knees. "You think I can't do it? Oh, I can, you stupid bitch."

"Maybe. People are capable of almost anything." Buffy strained to make her voice soft, unthreatening, understanding. "The difference with you, though, is that you don't want to. Not really. That voice in the back of your head that you stopped listening to – you can still hear it, can't you? It's time to start listening again."

"So what? You're gonna be like my Jiminy fucking Cricket? Tellin' me what's right and wrong till I'm a real girl?"

"No, I'm not gonna do that. I wouldn't know where to start," Buffy said, shaking her head. "I wish I could help you, but I can't."

"Fuck you," Simone spat, her mouth contorting painfully. "You're just like everybody else. A fucking waste of my time."

Buffy heaved a breath then bit the insides of her cheeks. "I wanna help you, but I don't know how. I'm sorry."

"Save it," Simone snapped, rising angrily to her feet. "I don't need you or your goddamn apology. I _never_ needed you."

"I don't understand what you're going through," Buffy continued. "I can pretend, but I don't know what it's like for you."

"Right, 'cause you're so fucking perfect."

"Nah, she ain't perfect, kid," Faith said, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. "That halo you're lookin' at – it's highlights. Dye job. She's just as fucked up as the rest of us. In her own special way, of course, but still messed in the head. And don't let anybody tell you different. Especially her." Faith looked at Buffy, signaling her with a nod. "I got this."

After a long moment, Buffy answered quietly, "I know."

Walking towards the door, she paused to glance over her shoulder at Simone who stood frozen in place, her gaze shifting between Buffy and Faith. She was halfway to the stairs when she heard the first punch. It stopped her in her tracks. That better have been Simone. She'd worked out the plan with Faith and…

That _better_ have been Simone.

Buffy tilted her head back towards the storage room, straining to hear.

"Get off me, you fucking dyke!"

Simone.

"Don't flatter yourself, kid. You're not my type."

Faith.

Punch. Crack. The sounds muffled. They must have dropped to the floor, wrestling. Then it got quiet. Buffy turned and rushed back to the doorway. She knew this wouldn't work. She should've known. Why did she think this would work?

Then she saw them. Faith had Simone in a headlock. Except it didn't look like a headlock. It looked almost like they were… hugging. Faith knelt behind Simone, holding her still.

"Now listen up 'cause I'm gonna tell you a story," Faith said in a low voice. "It's about a girl who made some bad choices. Really fucked up choices. She hurt everyone who ever cared about her. She got lost. Lost in the hate and the kill. You have any idea how hard it is to come back from that? Nah, you don't know. Maybe you never will. That's the plan, kid. I'm here to make sure you never have to know what that's like."

"Fuck you," Simone hissed, trying to bite Faith's arm.

Oh, you're feisty." Faith laughed, pulling Simone's head back to keep her teeth from connecting. "Go ahead, let it out. Wail on me. Call me names. I can take it. I'm not going anywhere. You're just gonna have to get used to me, kid."

"I'm _not_ a kid."

"That right? 'Cause you sure punch like one."

Simone screamed in frustration and slung her head back, connecting with Faith's nose. Faith laughed it off and wrestled her down, hugging her tightly until Simone's arms were trapped at her sides.

"Stop," Simone sobbed. "Let go."

"Nah. Not gonna," Faith said softly. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay."

Buffy backed away, careful to not make a sound. She stopped trying to hear every word as she walked down the hall and up the stairs. Spike stood at the landing, waiting for her.

"How'd it go?"

"It went…" Buffy looked back down the stairs. "It went good. I think it's good. Faith's got it covered."

"Sure sounded like a good time. Why am I always missing out on the action?"

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "You looking for some action?"

"What'd you have in my mind?"

"Torturing Andrew."

Spike frowned. "Well, that's not gonna be any fun. He'll break before I even flash fang."

"I was thinking more intimidation and persuasion."

"Why not just ask him? Doesn't he work for you? You'd think he'd be all about cooperating and sucking up to the boss."

"Not about this," Buffy explained. "I made it very clear he wasn't supposed to do something. I know he did, but… I have to make him admit it first."

"What'd he do?"

"What's he always do no matter how many times you tell him not to?"

"Pfft, that list is long. Hell, it's neverending."

"Come on." Buffy walked past Spike, brushing shoulders. "Follow me and I'll show you some action."

"The words sound so right and yet…"

"Focus, Spike," Buffy tossed over her shoulder.

"I'm plenty focused."

Buffy turned to face him, hands on her hips. "On the plan. Focus on the plan."

"You haven't told me the plan. It's hard to focus on the plan when I don't know what the plan _is_."

"We're gonna torture Andrew until he squeals. Just go with it. You know you're dying to break out the Big Bad act."

"Am not."

Buffy gave him a look.

"Fine," Spike huffed. "Let's go."

******


	30. Chapter 30

"And they cancelled it. They. Cancelled. It. John traveled to the future. A John from the past went even further into the future except they didn't remember who he was in the future and- and do you see how crucial that is? How it changes _everything_? His going to the future meant he wasn't there to become the great hero in the past and the Resistance happened without him. But John Connor is epic. Epic! So for there to be a future where he doesn't matter – that's huge. Mindblowing. And they cancelled it. They cancelled it! The ultimate cliffhanger and they axed it. Why is the world so cruel? Why? Why?!" Andrew fell to his knees next to his bed, hands raised in supplication to the TV network gods. With an exaggerated sigh, he dropped his head forward and sobbed, "I hate FOX."

Spike rolled his eyes at Andrew's non-stop blathering. "Yeah. Can see how that would be real traumatic for you."

The boy hadn't stopped talking since the moment he and Buffy had tracked him down. He hadn't even put up a fuss when Buffy told him what she wanted. Before Spike had the chance to break out his intimidating glare, Andrew was skipping ahead and spastically waving them forward in the direction of his bedroom, only too eager to cooperate. Buffy had backed out, delegating the retrieval to Spike with an excuse about needing to talk to Giles.

Glorified gopher, that's what he was. Geek babysitter. No, it was worse. Getting Andrew to cooperate was like wrangling an untrained puppy into taking a dump in the backyard instead of on the carpet inside. At first, you try reason. Which never works and why did you bother trying to talk to the pup in the first place? Then positive reinforcement. Except bribing with treats only makes him want more treats and you're still getting nowhere. Then you start growling and playing alpha dog. But the stupid mutt just looks at you without any comprehension of what you want, no regard for your will, no respect for your authority. And as you're staring him down, he lifts his leg and starts pissing on your boots and dammit it all if he doesn't grin while doing it.

Buffy had just abandoned him. She'd left him holding the leash with requisite doggy bag for picking up the shite, sending him off to dig up the bone Andrew had buried in the metaphorical backyard. He was certain she'd planned doing it this way the entire time. That sly, beautiful bitch.

Remember - do not hit the yipping dog, Spike chanted. Do not snap his neck. Don't yell at him. Because the guilt when he widens those wounded puppydog eyes – somehow it'll be worse than the torture of enduring his nattering on.

"So where you got 'em stashed?" Spike snapped his fingers when Andrew's melodramatic bawling continued unchecked. "Andrew. Andrew!"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I…" Andrew scrambled on his knees around his bed and pulled back the floorboards in the corner, revealing a collection of DVDs hidden inside. He grinned toothily, eyes eager for praise. "Ta da! Ask and ye shall receive."

Spike grabbed the plastic laundry basket sitting on Andrew's desk, dumping the folded clothes on the bed and dropping the basket on the floor. "Pack it up and let's get going," he ordered, crossing his arms.

The DVDs were unceremoniously dumped into the basket, titles and covers flashing before Spike's eyes and suddenly, the world was right again. The world was bloody brilliant. A delicious twinge ran up his spine when he imagined giving Buffy what she wanted, giving her exactly what she'd asked for.

His grin was evil. He was sure it looked evil because Andrew started fidgeting and looking down to avoid eye contact. Spike patted him on the shoulder, murmuring, "That's a _good_ boy."

******

The Scooby core was assembled and in full swing when Spike shouldered his way through the library door, his right arm draped around the laundry basket full of DVDs resting against his hip. Willow had a laptop set up at one end of a long desk, clicking away. Buffy stood with arms crossed, watching Giles read a letter while Xander was pouring through a large stack of newspapers and magazines, Dawn at his side. C-SPAN played on a constant loop on the TV mounted in the corner above a station of computers, the sound muted.

"So? What do you think?" Buffy asked.

Giles lowered the letter and met her expectant gaze with a sigh. "I don't rightly know what to make of this, Buffy. On the one hand, it all seems to line up. On the other, you can't trust anything the Immortal tells you. Especially not in some 'in the event of my death' letter. His motives, his endgame – I feel they still remain a mystery."

"His endgame was pretty clear. Death. He wanted to die. He wanted to die and he wanted to show me something that would make me want to kill him. Make all of us want him dead and buried. I just don't understand how far he took it. Did I just euthanize a powerful ally or put down a twisted man who'd rather manipulate everyone around him, who'd let the world burn instead of taking a stand? Did he kill those Slayers? Or was it-"

"Twilight," Giles supplied.

"Our resident masked man raises his allegedly ugly head yet again," Xander said. "Gotta love that guy."

"In a hating his guts kind of way," Dawn amended.

"Yeah, that was sarcastic!Xander talking," Xander said.

"There's a version of Xander that isn't sarcastic?" Dawn marveled.

"Back to cataloguing Slayer hate mail. That's an order. Okay, a request, but you should respond to it like it's an order," Xander said, pointing at the stack of publications on the desk. Dawn harrumphed and started flipping through a magazine.

"I don't care what Twilight has to do with this. The Immortal was evil. He stabbed Kennedy. He tried to suck me into that black hellhole. I say good riddance. He got what he deserved," Willow said, bitterness coloring her voice.

"I just can't stop thinking it didn't have end that way," Buffy explained. "If we'd known about the attacks on the Slayers ahead of time. If he'd only told us, we could've done something. Worked together. And Lara wouldn't have been forced to…"

"Kill the man she loved," Spike said.

"Yeah," Buffy said, glancing away from Spike.

"I'm afraid it's pointless to ponder what could have been," Giles added. "The Immortal's motives aren't important. His actions speak more loudly than his intentions."

"Context is important, Giles. Isn't it? But hey, what do I know? You're talking to the girl who thought robbing a bank was justified because I was using it to fight evil. In the end, I guess the world isn't that into a modern day Robin Hood." Buffy sighed. "All the world sees is us stealing, taking what we want to do what we want. All we see is the Immortal pulling strings, taking what he wants to get what he wants. What's the difference?"

"You are _not_ the same as the Immortal," Giles said.

"Too right," Spike said. "That ponce didn't know the meaning of selfless."

Buffy shook her head. "Willow, you said it yourself. This is why the world is turning on us. This was where it started." She pointed at the streaming news coverage on the TV that flashed a mugshot of Simone. "Now all they see is a vigilante group that's above the law. We're getting blacklisted while Harmony is busy talking up Anderson Cooper and Larry King. All she needs next is for her new autobiography to be put on Oprah's book club and she'll seal the deal. Vampires are the coolest and Slayers are on the endangered species list and soon-to-be extinct."

Spike snorted. "Autobiography? Harm can barely string together a coherent sentence. They'll publish all manner of tripe nowadays."

"Look, it's not like we can undo it, Buff," Xander said. "We needed the money to run this joint. And-"

"And look where it's gotten us," Buffy interrupted. "Look at what's happening. I'm wanted for arson and, what, terrorism? They wanna lock me up for slaying vampires who were trying to murder a girl and turning people into mindless slaves. The world's all topsy turvy and what are we gonna do about it?"

"The world doesn't want to believe that vampires are evil," Giles said. "They want to rationalize the nightmare. To romanticize it. It makes it easier to sleep at night."

Spike jumped in: "It makes it easier for a vamp to slip inside and-"

"-kill them," Buffy finished, slashing her hand through the air. "It makes them victims. Complacent. They're practically offering their necks without understanding the danger. And they're gonna die if we don't do something."

"Not everyone's bought a ticket on the 'vampires are the coolest' train," Xander said. "It's a fad. Like Hannah Montana meets Paris Hilton. Nobody in their right mind would actually buy into this crap."

"Oh god, why did you bring up Hannah Montana?" Dawn groaned. "You're making my ears bleed."

"They've bought into it enough to think we're the enemy," Buffy continued. "Guys, we have to deal with this. Now."

"Well, you can scratch the arson and terrorism off the long list of worries," Willow said. "That's already taken care of. Charges were dropped. We're good."

"And how'd you do that?" Buffy asked on edge. "Did you use magic? Did you make them forget?"

"No, I didn't have to, but so what if I did?" Willow said defensively. "Your alibi was busy in Scotland being Buffy Summers while you were running around LA throwing Molotov cocktails at the undead. All I had to do was show some documentation that Buffy Summers was nowhere near LA at the time of the fire and you were in the clear. And by the way, you're welcome."

Buffy threw her head back and sighed. After a moment, she said, "Thank you. I- I just…" She closed her eyes. "Thank you."

"Buffy, where's Faith?" Giles asked. "Considering the importance of this discussion, I think she should be included. I know you two have your differences, but-"

"Faith's busy," Buffy said. "I'm not keeping her out of this. Brief her. Tell her everything. It's just she's got something more important to do right now."

Giles raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly is she doing?"

"She's helping Simone."

"Ah, I see."

The room fell silent.

Then Willow asked, "If we're running down our list of problems, what about Christy?"

"What about her?" Buffy asked, impatience adding an edge to her voice.

"We just left her there in Rome. I could have done a spell to make her forget and she wouldn't have caused us anymore trouble." Willow turned around the screen on her laptop, which showed a news feed of Christy being interviewed back in LA. "Instead, we've got another Harmony on our hands. Another person bashing Slayers. Why did we even let her go?"

"We let her go because she's human. And while she's a royal pain in my ass and an evil bitch, it's not our job to judge her. Or punish her."

"She was partly responsible for those Slayers who were killed. We should've-"

"That's not what we're about, Will. Just let it go." Buffy sighed and decided to change the subject. "Did you figure out how Christy was involved with the Immortal and the Slayer kidnappings?"

"Not really. I backtracked the signal again and, well, considering how sophisticated the Immortal's firewalls were and his high tech security, it was almost too easy to connect it to him."

"He planted it," Buffy concluded. "He wanted us to find it."

"It looks like he might have done that." Willow shrugged. "But it's all kinda iffy."

"The iffy is how I know he did it," Buffy said. "You can never tell which way is up with that jackass."

"I still think we should've tortured the bint," Spike added.

"Remember me voting no to the torture?" Buffy pointed at herself. "I still vote no. Besides, you don't really mean that."

"Don't I? Girl needed to be scared straight. We could've knocked some sense into her."

Willow muttered, "Scared straight? Yeah, that never works."

"I'm not gonna use scare tactics to just become some misguided moron's beard," Buffy insisted. "She wants to be stupid. Fine. We told her the truth and she decided to not believe us. That's the end of it. We're not gonna coerce. We're not gonna bribe. We're better than that."

"Well, sure, if you wanna get all high brow and morally superior. Speaking of morally superior," Spike lifted the laundry basket full of DVDs and planted them in the center of the desk, "here's that porn you were asking about."

"_Wha huh?_" Buffy said, shocked.

"Oh. That's just- oh," Dawn murmured, staring at the DVDs covered with naked women with fake breasts.

"Oh, for the-" Giles turned his back and started furiously rubbing his glasses against his shirt.

"Those women are so not lesbians," Willow criticized, leaning closer to examine one of the covers entitled 'Girls on Girls'.

"What the _hell_ is this, Spike?" Buffy snapped.

"What you asked for, love." Spike shrugged, all innocence. "You told me to get those discs from Andrew. So I got 'em."

"I did _not_ ask for porn!" Buffy turned to look at the gang. "I didn't!" Buffy panted, staring at the basket of DVDs. "Dawn, cover your eyes."

"Oh come on, it's not like I haven't seen stuff like this before," Dawn said.

Buffy started hyperventilating. "_You've been watching porn?!_"

"What? I can't watch porn? I'm all grown-up, you know."

"Yes, I do need to take care of that correspondence. Very important. Must go," Giles murmured, walking out of the library.

"Uh, Buffy. It's not porn." Xander opened one of the DVDs to show a disc inside labeled 'Barcelona Slayer Surveillance'. "See?"

"Oh. Oh, okay." Buffy heaved a sigh of relief. "Yeah, that's what I asked for. Not porn, definitely not porn."

"Wait a tick," Spike said, staring at Xander. "How'd you know what was really in there before you opened it?"

"I- uh, that's…" Xander stammered when everyone turned to stare at him. "I can sense these things. It's the eye patch. It's wired with X-ray vision. To replace the no-vision thing. Yeah, and I…"

"Andrew decided to hide his secret no-no tapings of the Slayer goings-on in the X-rated DVDs and you happened across 'em and decided to have a little alone time tugfest, that it?"

"Xander!" Buffy, Willow and Dawn exclaimed in chorus.

Xander jumped out of his seat and rushed for the door. "I've, uh, got some correspondence to take care of. Gotta go."

"Better hurry and write your penpal. Big Bertha gets mighty upset when her Xander bear doesn't write back smutty love letters," Spike called after him, grinning. The door slammed shut in response, leaving Spike to turn around and grin at the ladies. He met their hard, judging stares. "What?"

Buffy walked past him, headed towards the door, pausing to lightly slap him upside the head. Willow and Dawn gave him disappointed looks as they followed close behind.

"What'd I do?" Spike called after them. "Hello?"

The girls just kept on walking, letting the door swing closed.

"I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't," Spike muttered to himself. "People just can't take a joke." He reached into the basket to fiddle with the DVDs, picking up 'The Good, the Bed and the Snuggly' only to snort and toss it back down in disgust. "I'm not the one with the deviant porn collection that doesn't even have the decency to be porn. It's dishonest. What's the world coming to?"

******


	31. Chapter 31

The fluorescent glow from the computer screens was the only light in the work room.

The sound of laughter played over the speakers, then a girl off-screen cried, "Come on! Where's the action? I'm looking to make some dust."

"For a second there, I thought you were hard-up for a date," a girl with short black hair and brown leather jacket said, laughing.

"Shut up, Corinne," the girl from before said, appearing on-screen, hair a wild tousled brown pulled back into a high ponytail, her dark red sweater sleeves pushed up to her elbows. "_I _don't get dating and patrolling mixed in my head unlike some people I could name."

"From what I hear, it's the popular way to go," Corinne retorted, hopping up to stroll down the stone wall running along the darkened walkway.

"Only if your name starts with 'B' and ends with-"

"Ma'am? You were gonna say 'ma'am,' right?" Corinne shot a nervous glance at the camera.

"Sure. Of course. I'm a good little soldier." She jumped behind Corinne and wrestled her down to the ground.

"Jamie! Stop it!" Corinne protested, shoving her off with a laugh. "Stop messing around."

"Messing around? That's rich coming from you."

"Knock it off," Corinne said, punching Jamie in the shoulder and looking straight into the camera again.

A hand touching Buffy's shoulder made her gasp and turn to find Giles staring at her in concern, his lips moving. She blinked, the pulled the buds out of her ears so she could hear him. She hit 'pause' on the playback for the video labeled 'Barcelona.'

"What did you say?" she asked.

Pulling out the chair next to hers, he sat down, hands braced on his knees. "How long have you been at this?"

"Uh. A while? Why?"

"Have you eaten anything?"

"Sure. I ate breakfast this morning."

"Which was…?"

"Coffee," she replied, flustered. "It was good coffee."

"What are you looking for?" he asked, gazing at the array of video playback on the half dozen computer monitors mounted at the work console.

She stared at the screens, shrugging. "I dunno. They hate us. I don't- I don't understand how they see us. I thought maybe if I- if I tried to _see_ what they see, but how can they… _why_?"

"Hate is easy. It's simpler."

She turned to face him. "Is it? It doesn't feel that way."

He nodded at the screen displaying muted footage of a man being interviewed and passing judgment on the so-called terrorist organization, The Slayers. "For them – in the moment – yes, it is simpler. Hate is visceral. Hate is pure and uncompromising. It doesn't matter what's real because all that matters is the fear within. Hate is the violent expression of our innermost fears. There is no logic or reason."

"I'm kinda regretting all my not paying attention in history class. I suddenly feel the need for some civil rights insight. Normally when someone hates me, it's 'cause they're evil. So I slay them. Problem solved."

"Only you can't slay these foes."

"Pretty sure I can't. Not even the really evil ones like the bloodsucking media hoes. Except Perez Hilton. I don't think anyone would mind if I-" She stabbed the air with an imaginary stake in her fist.

"On the contrary, it would be on par with averting an apocalypse."

"Maybe they'd give me a medal," she said, hopeful.

"Or a miniature bedazzled pink umbrella?"

"Yeah," she said, eyes distant, voice soft. "Maybe one of those. That'd be nice."

He lowered his voice to meet her softer cadence. "It would be."

Dropping her eyes, she whispered, "I'm glad you're back. I missed you." She peered up at him from underneath her lashes.

"And I, you," he replied, a barely-there smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"So were you disappointed it wasn't porn?" she said, eyes dancing.

"Oh!" With a snort, he reached for his glasses then stopped and lowered his hand. "Ha ha. Very funny."

"I thought it was," she giggled, pleasure lighting her smile.

Laughter fading away, a silence fell between them. She turned back to the monitor in front of her and fiddled with the mouse before pulling up a video labeled 'Rome' and punching play, leaving the sound muted. A shot of a winding street showed a young woman with dark, curly hair saluting the camera and twirling her stake. She rolled her eyes, laughing at something said to her off-screen. Her lips moved, grinning, as she shot back a retort then turned to walk down the street.

"You should come down and eat something," Giles chided. "Or you'll miss supper."

"I will," she said, nodding, still staring at the screen. "In a little bit."

His warm hand squeezed her shoulder and she leaned her head towards his touch, smiling.

"Don't be too long," he said, rising from his seat and heading towards the door.

"As long as it takes," she murmured, watching the girl on the screen.

An hour later, her stomach made a last-ditch gurgling rumble and, wonder of wonders, she heeded it. Shutting down the computers, she pulled out the zip drive on which Willow had compressed and transferred the hours of video. She dropped the zip drive into the top desk drawer, locked it and left the work room.

She nodded a greeting at the two Slayers (Marta and… Jackie?) who watched the security feed in the main room of the attic turned into communications central. The back of her neck prickled as she walked down the steps. They were watching her.

Of course they were watching her, always curious to know what the Slayer in charge was up to – more than curious. She felt their gazes weighing on her. Expectant looks awaiting her orders. Problem was she didn't currently know which way was up – it made it kinda hard to be the bossiest of the bossy.

Headed towards the main stairs that led to the ground floor and the kitchen, she turned a corner and nearly tripped over Willow and Kennedy caught in a passionate embrace. So passionate that they didn't immediately notice her. She considered walking by without comment, but her hastily muffled snort of amusement somehow broke through the couple's lusty fog.

"Oh, hey Buffy," Willow said, licking her lips and pushing her hair back over her shoulder.

"Hey," Buffy said, holding back her grin so that only the corners of her lips curved up. "So… how are things? Anything to report?"

"Things are great," Kennedy said, slipping her arm around Willow's waist and hugging her close. "Things were about to get even better until somebody interrupted."

"Yeah, I'm always doing that what with the walking down hallways that aren't private bedrooms," Buffy teased.

"No, no, there was no interrupting. We weren't, well, I mean…" Willow sputtered.

"Relax, Will," Buffy said, grinning, stepping around the couple and continuing down the hall.

"Oh, I dunno about that," Kennedy murmured, giving Willow a flirtatious caress along her hip. "I was planning on getting her wound up even more tight before she got a chance to relax."

"Yeah, I so didn't need to know that," Buffy replied, laughing. "But since you guys feel the need to share, maybe you can share in your room? Just a thought."

Judging by her friskiness, Kennedy was fully healed from her run-in with the Immortal, but that was to be expected, right? She flexed her ankle as she walked, imagining the heat of Willow's magic coursing through her. Yay magic.

Trudging down the stairs, she grabbed the banister, using it for leverage as she turned at the base of the stairs to head towards the back of the house where the food lived. Running smack into the door swinging open wasn't planned. Nope, it was just her lucky day.

"Oh, Buffy! Oh, damn. Sorry," Faith said, hands reaching forward only to immediately drop to her sides. She grimaced in sympathy. "You okay?"

Blinking back stunned tears, Buffy answered, "Peachy. I had my fingers crossed for another concussion and wouldn't you k now?" She shook her head and waited for her vision to settle. "Well, looks like you missed knocking me senseless, so go you. Unless you were trying to…?"

"No, not trying. We're talking accident here. And hey I've got a witness," Faith said, nodding behind her. "Sim'll back me up."

"Like she'd even believe me," Simone said with a snort, rubbing the chafed skin on her wrists.

"Hello, Simone," Buffy said quietly, ignoring the attitude and giving a small smile instead.

"We were just headed upstairs," Faith said, jerking her head in the direction of the stairs. "Sim's gonna get cleaned up. Eau de cellar is played out. We're gonna upgrade her to something that doesn't make me wanna hurl."

"Shut up," Simone said, punching Faith in the arm without any real force.

"Sounds good," Buffy said, stepping forward just as Simone and Faith moved to walk by her. They danced awkwardly around each other, shoulders bumping and feet tripping until Faith grabbed Simone by the elbow and pulled her to the side.

"Later, B," Faith called, leading Simone away.

"Later," Buffy murmured.

Continuing on, she glanced into the study across the hall and saw Lara curled up at the window seat, staring out at the grounds dimly lit by the moon and stars. Her hands were stuffed into the overly large sleeves of the sweatshirt she'd been wearing earlier, legs pulled up to sit Indian-style on the cushions.

Buffy leaned against the study's doorway, wondering if Lara had gotten the chance to pack any of her clothes before they'd left Italy. Maybe she needed to go shopping. Dawn would jump at the chance to take her. It'd be good for Lara to get to know the others. To not be alone.

Muscle tensed to move towards her, Buffy froze at the sight of Connor now standing in front of the window. Lara turned to look at Connor, then down at the plate he held towards her. She shook her head at what he offered. He smiled and said something while holding the plate aloft, waving it to tease her. With an eye roll, she grabbed half of a grilled cheese sandwich off the plate and took a bite, raising her eyebrow as if to say "satisfied?"

Grinning in triumph, Connor sat down next to her on the window seat, long legs outstretched, hip brushing against her knee. He rested the plate of grilled cheese sandwiches on his lap, devouring one in three large mouthfuls before digging into another. Lara leaned in closer, watching the half-cut sandwiches disappear off the plate. Her hand inched forward to grab one of the remaining halves, only to be caught by the wrist within Connor's grip.

He waved his half-eaten sandwich in her face, laughing as she moved to grab it with her other free hand. Holding the sandwich in between his teeth, he wrestled with her, holding her off as she tried to grab more sandwiches off the plate.

"Give me one!" Lara insisted, laughing. "Connor!"

"Ha! I thought you weren't hungry!" he shot back, avoiding her hand diving forward to tickle him in the ribs. He jerked back, knocking the plate off his lap and upending the sandwiches on the floor.

She gasped. "Now look what you did!"

"Me? You're the one who got all violent and greedy."

"I so did not!"

Buffy pushed off the doorway and continued walking down the hallway, chuckling softly in time to the shrieking laughter and shouts echoing from the study. Pushing open the door to the kitchen, her smile turned quizzical at the sight of Dawn and Xander amidst an array of boxes.

"How about guacamole?" Dawn suggested. "You can never go wrong with guacamole."

"Oh, trust me, you can and have gone very, very wrong with guacamole." Xander grabbed one of the boxes off the counter. "Now bacon bits, on the other hand, are the topping of choice. They make everything better times twelve."

"Lame," Dawn said, grabbing the box of bacon bits out of his hand. "You would so get kicked off _Top Chef_ for being unimaginative."

"Unimaginative? When you say unimaginative, you do mean edible, right?"

"Are you saying I can't cook?"

"Oh, you can definitely cook. It's the whole eating part that keeps tripping you up."

"Fine, have your lame bacon bits," Dawn said, tossing the box at Xander and smirking as he scrambled to catch it. "I'm gonna top my grilled cheese with salsa, sour cream and guacamole."

Clearing her throat, Buffy asked, "Any chance I could get one of those sandwiches, only straight up? You know, without the bacony guacamole hybrid toppings."

"Sure thing, Buff," Xander said, grabbing a few slices of bread and spreading butter on each side before pressing bits of cheddar inside and tossing it into the frying pan. "All that researching work up an appetite?"

"An appetite for lame, boring food," Dawn added, biting into her sandwich and dropping bits of salsa, sour cream and guacamole onto her plate.

"Hey, simple can be good. It's classic," Buffy defended, holding a plate forward to catch the sandwich Xander slid off the spatula. The golden, greasy bread crunched in her hands as she lifted it up and took a bite of hot, gooey cheese and bread. Happily munching through a mouthful, she said, "Definitely classic."

"Hey, that was one of my sandwiches," Dawn protested, licking off bits of guacamole on her lips and fingers.

"I'm making more," Xander said, sharing an exasperated smile with Buffy.

"Oh, grilled cheese!" Andrew cried, walking into the kitchen.

Dawn grabbed a sandwich from the pile, spooned salsa, sour cream and guacamole onto the crusted bread and said, "Andrew, try this. You're gonna love it. Maybe even more than my peanut butter, potato chips and grilled cheese!"

"Grilled Cheese de Mexico," Andrew said with a tinge of awe, pronouncing it as 'meh-hee-co' and admiring the colors on the sandwich resembling the Mexican flag.

"It's totally delicious," Dawn said.

"Liar," Xander said, coughing into his fist.

"Shut up," Dawn said, glaring at him and bumping him with her hip.

Finished eating, Buffy slipped out the back door of the kitchen while Dawn and Xander bickered over the sandwiches. She smiled at the sound of Andrew's enthusiastic yummy noises as he ate Dawn's bizarre sandwich creation, then grinned when Dawn demanded Xander admit she was a culinary genius.

Her sister could dream on – there was no way Xander would ever admit that.

Hugging her arms against the chill in the air, she walked along the stone path winding through the untended gardens, growing wild from lack of attention. Slayers weren't exactly known for their green thumbs. More like the opposite. They were hardwired destructo girls – world beware.

She followed the path to the small lake on the east side of the property. A slight breeze skimmed the surface of the water, making each crested wave shine silver in the darkness. She shifted on her feet, knocking a pebble into the shallow end of the lake and upsetting the even keel of the waters' rumblings. Bending down, she picked up another pebble, holding the stone in her hand until it grew warm from her body heat. She tossed the pebble into the air, watching it rise then fall into the center of the lake, splashing upon impact and sending ripples emanating back to the bank where she stood. The water lapped at her feet before settling back into a peaceful lull.

She breathed in the moonlit silence and peaceful waters and for one moment, her mind went blank – free of worries and fears and insecurities. Free of questions and doubts.

And then she wasn't alone anymore.

"I'm sorry about that," Spike said, standing close behind her. "About Andrew's…"

"It's okay," she whispered, turning to look at him over her shoulder. "It was funny."

"Then why aren't you laughing?"

She shrugged and turned back to gaze off into the depths of the lake.

"So what, is this your place for reflection? Your very own reflecting pool."

"No, definitely not," she denied. " I come here to not think."

He walked forward and stood at her side, following the direction of her gaze to look out into the waters. After a moment, he muttered, "Don't see what's so special about it."

"The water's so dark. You can't see what's underneath," she mused. "Do you think…"

"What?"

"Do you think maybe there's a monster hiding in there?"

"Your very own Nessie?" he said with a grin.

"Huh?"

"Loch Ness monster. Scotland. It'd fit."

"Oh. No. I didn't mean a real monster. Though it'd be easier if there was some hellbeast in there. If there was, I could slay it. I'm good at that."

"You're good at a lot of things."

She smiled, eyes warmly meeting his. "I think you might be biased."

"What? Won't take my word for it? I ask you, where's the trust?" He leaned in close. "You'd think all the time's I've called you names to your face, you'd know I'm not one for sugar coating."

"I trust you," she said, shivering at the touch of his hand to the small of her back.

"Do you now?" he breathed against her cheek, slipping his hand under the cotton of her shirt, trailing cool fingers up her spine.

She turned, brushing her lips against his, her hands feathering across his chest before clutching his sides and pulling him closer, pressing to feel the slide of skin through cotton and leather. Their lips fused, diving into a kiss of words shared and memories relived, of emotions reignited and vows renewed, of forgiveness and devotion and passion. The passion soon overwhelmed all other expressions, boiling down every finer emotion into need. Need for skin and touch and friction.

She pulled back with a gasp, lungs desperate for air. He pressed his forehead against hers, waiting. Her hands pushed his duster off his shoulders, then grabbed his shirt and lifted it up over his head. He lifted his arms, letting her lead, watching as she pulled her own shirt off and tossed it aside.

"Aren't you worried someone's watching?" He eyed the manor behind them. "A junior Slayer somewhere has got her nose pressed to the glass, jaw flapping at the sight of you."

"There's always someone watching." She pressed closer to him, pulling his arms up to wrap around her. "That's never gonna change."

Lips met. Hands caressed and teased, exploring surfaces hard and soft, coaxing forth shivers and gasps and grunts that echoed in the silence. Then she fell, dropping down onto the cool grass, his body covering hers, sending her heat back into her. Eyes closed, voices quieted – they spoke through the crush of flesh on flesh, through the knowing of scent and sensation.

Colors burst on the inside of her closed eyelids. She gasped at the feel of his tongue on her nipple, her eyes shooting open, unable to contain the rise pulsing inside her. Then she blinked, confused at the colors exploding in the sky above – reds and yellows and blues and greens. Her breath caught in her too-tight throat, twisting down into her stomach. Her hands clutched his shoulders like a vise rigidly drawn.

She watched the magic in the sky scream a silent siren. She watched the whirring blades of the helicopters pass overhead. She watched the enemy she was sworn to protect attack her family.

She watched her world shatter. All she could do was watch.

******

To Be Continued…


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32  
**

Time froze within the gasp of air caught in her throat and for a moment she was struck by how horrifically beautiful disaster looked. Despite all the apocalypses she'd survived and averted, no one had ever told her that when the sky literally falls, it plummets to Earth in the colors of a psychedelic rainbow. One stray beam of reddish orange danced across the night air above her, sizzling as it grazed her cheek, melting into her skin, igniting every sinew and synapse.

Her body snapped into action. Panicked breath on the verge of a whimper punctuated her jerky rhythm. She rolled to her knees and yanked her shirt over her head, shoving Spike to the side as she surged to her feet.

"Buffy, what-"

She didn't hear the rest. She didn't look back. She just ran.

She ran through the fluorescent sparks of magic that drizzled down from the burst holes in the invisible dome surrounding the manor. Above her, the helicoptor's whirling blades sent the sparks flying in sprinkler circles to the grass. Slayer speed pushed to the max, she dove through the shower waves falling in the helicoptor's wake. The colors dropped a curtain over her vision, turning her chase into a blind sprint.

She shut her eyes, ignoring the bright distractions, instead focusing on the feel of the grass beneath her pounding feet. She flashed forward through the drops that bounced off her cheeks and clung to the fabric of her white sweater. The sparks heated the air until it quivered and burned against her skin.

The helicopter hummed far in front of her, pulsating in the sky – she felt its echo ping in her spine and honed in on the signal, letting it guide her forward. She tore up mounds of earth with each powerful lunge, leaping forward like an Olympic long-jumper running at a dead sprint.

Eyes still closed, she collided into a man with the force of a freight train, molding to the hard edges of weapons and ammunition strapped to his body and the heavy Kevlar vest across his chest. Feet knocked off course, she toppled over, rolling with him on the grass. She scrambled upright, unshaken, and snaked over to slug him in the jaw, registering that he was outfitted in black commando gear from head to toe.

"Buffy!" Spike shouted, and she spun into the butt of a rifle aimed at her temple. She deflected with a forearm block, diving under the commando's sweeping arm to grip him by the wrist and flip him over her shoulder. Wresting the rifle from his grasp, she clocked him with the butt of the weapon before tossing it aside. Two commandos now lying unconscious at her feet. Two down.

"What the hell is this?" Spike yelled over the roar of the choppers' engine, sliding to a stop at her side and sidling close till their shoulders brushed.

"They found us," she panted, squinting against the glare of search lights beaming down from half a dozen helicopters surrounding the manor.

"And who the hell are they?"

She shook her head.

_I don't know._

A shot sounded from one of the hovering choppers and a projectile whistled through the air for a split second before shredding through a wall of the garage running along the west corner of the main house. One whistle then two and three and four. The roof of the garage exploded under the impact, lighting up the sky with a blinding white fire that turned red as it burned the oxygen in the air. Bits of stone and mortar rocketed through the sky then fell to the ground, crashing through the glass ceiling of the greenhouse and breaking branches off the surrounding trees.

A fender from one of the SUVs parked in the garage smashed into the ground two feet from where Spike stood. He jumped away, eyeing the sky warily before stepping forward and kicking the fender. "Guess they don't want us leaving the party." He snorted. "Or they really hate German gas guzzlers."

The sound of gunshots fired inside the manor. Buffy jerked out of her daze. She turned her back on the flames consuming the garage. She ignored the helicopters circling overhead. The back entrance to the kitchen was open, the door broken off its hinges and lying half-shattered on the linoleum floor.

Another soldier in commando gear had Xander in a chokehold, pinning him against the kitchen counter. Near the kitchen dinette table, commando guy number two was swinging his fist at Dawn, who jumped back to dodge the blow and tripped over a box on the floor. She landed on her back, hands upraised against the next attack. The commando stood over her, arm pulled back, fist clenched. Just as his muscles released tension and snapped forward, a small hand grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, lifted him up and tossed him across the kitchen. His body flew over the island counter and banged into the industrial steel refrigerator.

"Dawn? Are you okay?" Buffy asked, helping her sister stand while running hands over her arms and carefully touching the bruise on her cheek.

Giving a shaky nod, Dawn joked, "Who thought it was a good idea to invite the Evil Commando Ninjas to dinner? 'Cause they suck."

"Spike," Xander croaked from across the room, fighting to loosen the grip of the commando with tree trunks for arms.

Spike grunted, gripping the commando by the wrists and pulling to no effect. Moving on to Plan B, Spike stepped back and punched him in the temple. The commando flinched and, without loosening his chokehold on Xander, barreled into Spike, causing him to trip over an overturned chair and land on the floor with his boots pointed at the ceiling. Kicking the chair out of the way, he rose to his feet and grabbed the heaviest object at hand – a frying pan covered in grease and bits of melted cheese – and swung it at the commando's head.

"Too many cooks in the bloody kitchen," Spike snarled, watching the commando slump to the floor with a feral smirk.

"Sure took you long enough," Xander coughed, leaning against the kitchen counter and rubbing his throat.

"Sorry you weren't man enough to save your life all on your own, Harris. Now be a good damsel in distress and say 'thank you' or next time I'll let whoever's thrashing you knock some sense into that thickheaded noggin before I lend a hand."

"Guys, where's Andrew?" Buffy demanded, letting go of Dawn to search the room.

"Sleeping the sleep of the knocked unconscious," Xander said, nodding at the Sketchers peeking out from behind the kitchen counter. "He freaked out, slipped on some guacamole and hit his head." He pointed a shaky finger at Dawn. "No more cooking for you, Evil Chef! I should've known your crazed recipe would start an apocalypse. No bueno – _muy_ no bueno."

"This is _my_ fault?" Dawn scoffed. "Get real."

Then the room plunged into darkness.

"Oh great, they cut the power," Xander groaned. "Bright side, no more catastrophic cooking creations of badness."

"Enough!" Buffy snapped. "How many are inside? Did you only see these two or were there more?"

Spike cocked his head to the side, listening to distant sounds. "There's more. Two doors down."

Buffy met his gaze from across the dark room, and in their shared look strategies were formed and silently agreed upon before they moved into action. She rushed through the hallway with Spike at her heels only to stumble to a halt in the main living room when her feet slipped in a puddle of blood.

The room was silent. Two Slayers, Leah and Rowena, stood at opposite corners of the room with their heads bowed. Leah clutched a long shard of glass. Rowena held a knife. The large bay window running along the outer wall was shattered – was that how they got in?

A muffled sob drew her attention and Buffy saw one of her junior Slayers, Breannah, crouched over a body in the center of the room, her slight form masked in shadow.

"She's dead," Breannah hiccupped. "She's…" She rocked back and forth, clinging to the girl's hand, her sobs bleeding together into one long sonorous keening.

_Tiffany Marie Cooper. Eighteen years old. 5'6''. 135 pounds. Blonde hair. From Cary, North Carolina, USA. Hobbies: soccer, classical music (studied violin in high school). Education: accepted to Duke University on a music scholarship; enrollment deferred upon being Called. Still too green for field work. Weak in hand-to-hand combat. Doesn't trust her instincts. Afraid to use her power. Reluctant to inflict pain on others – even demons._

Evaluation: Needs more training. She's… not ready.

The training report flashed in Buffy's mind. She blinked, then clenched her teeth and forced the bile down with a harsh swallow. "Rowena, what happened?"

Rowena avoided meeting her eyes. "They… we… they killed her. We had to."

"Had to what?" Buffy asked then flinched at the shock from the flashlight Giles carried into the room.

"Dear lord," Giles breathed in shock at the sight of the bodies lying throughout the room, wounds seeping blood that sunk into the area rug and pooled on the hardwood floor.

A commando lay on the floor to Buffy's right, his neck wrenched at an impossible angle, his left arm twisted so far behind his back that it hung out of socket.

A commando lay sprawled on the couch, his upper body dangling off the side, blood dripping from his neck.

A commando lay across the window casing, hanging limp, a shard of glass sticking out from the underside of his jaw.

A commando lay on the floor behind an armchair, seemingly uninjured.

Buffy walked forward and knelt at his side, checking his wrist for a pulse. There was none. His body was already turning cold. She ran her hands along his chest and found a break in the weave of his Kevlar vest. Stake to the heart. She glanced at the knife in Rowena's hand. No – knife to the heart. Slayer strength had forced the blade through the protective gear.

_First rule of Slaying – don't die. Second rule – never stop till they're dead. Remember, head and heart. Always go for the head and the heart. In the end, that's all you need to know._

Buffy pulled back the mask covering the commando's face to reveal the man underneath. He looked young. Maybe even younger than her. He had blue eyes. She squinted in the darkness – maybe he had blue eyes. She ran her hand down his forehead and across his eyes, closing them shut. Nothing left for him to see, was there? Besides, she couldn't bear to look into his dead eyes anymore. And wasn't that what you did? When someone died, you closed their eyes. It was only fair that someone got to close their eyes.

"We had to," Rowena repeated. "Right, Leah?"

Leah dropped the shard of glass in her hand to the ground, hugging her arms across her chest.

"We _had_ to," Rowena cried. "Leah! You know we had to. Leah…?"

Leah squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head and biting her lip.

"We had to. We had to," Rowena whispered, sagging against the wall behind her.

"It's... it's okay," Buffy managed to choke out, standing now, girding herself against the lurch in her stomach at the smell of blood and death in the room. Human blood. Human death. It smelled different. It felt different. "It's not your fault." _It's mine._ "Don't blame yourself." _Blame me._ "We have to keep moving." _We have to get out of this room._ "It's not safe here." _No one's safe here. _

"And go where how exactly?" Spike asked. "All the cars have been blown to hell and back."

"I vote for any place where crazy soldier guys aren't shooting at us," Connor said, limping into the room with one arm draped over Lara's shoulder, who was helping him stand with one arm clasped around his waist. Looking down at the bloodstain spreading on his t-shirt covering his left shoulder, Connor added, "'Cause you know those rumors about how getting shot is a blast? Yeah, not so much."

"Shut up," Lara said fiercely. "Stop joking about getting _shot_ or I'm going to strangle you."

"Okay, everyone listen up," Buffy demanded. "We have to-"

_Buffy? Are you okay? Buffy?!_

She grimaced – Willow's voice felt like a scream stabbing her temples.

_We're… okay. Where are you? Are you hurt?_

We're good. Kennedy and I flew out of there when they shot tear gas into our bedroom. We're on the north side of the woods. Buffy, you have to get out of there. There's more coming.

How many?

Too many. And they've got some serious mojo working for them. They're immune to my magic. That's how they broke through the magical barrier I'd put up. And they're using some sort of technology that interferes with our comms – we're flying blind here. We need to regroup and figure out some plan of attack.

No.

No what?

We're not attacking. I'm sending everyone your way – can you give them some kind of cover? Stealth mode is beyond needed.

Yeah, I can do that, but-

We fall back. 

That blessed internal silence Buffy had yearned for only moments ago now felt like torture when Willow didn't answer.

_Willow?_

Okay. Got it.

Buffy's eyes drifted back into focus to find Spike staring at her, hands raised to shake her out of her trance. She glared a warning at him. The last thing she needed was someone shaking her when she already felt queasy.

Lifting his hands palms up in apology, he let them drop to his sides. "Tell Red I really hate it when she does that," Spike rumbled.

"Tell her yourself," Buffy shot back. She shook her shoulders to dislodge the wiggins and added with a grumble, "It's not like it's _my_ most favorite thing ever."

"Don't you even care?" Breannah said, spearing Buffy with a tearful gaze of accusation from her kneeling stance. "Tiffany's dead and you haven't said anything. It's like she doesn't even matter."

"I care, but we have got to move because there's more trouble headed our way. There isn't time to stop. There isn't even time for this conversation, so listen up," Buffy ordered. "We fall back. We're leaving. We are not going to engage in this fight, is that clear?"

"You want us to run?" Rowena sneered.

"No," Giles interrupted. "She's ordering a tactical retreat. And where are we headed?"

"North side of the woods," Buffy directed. "Willow's whipping up some mystical cover so you won't be followed."

"And you will be…?"

"Making sure everyone else gets the memo. Comms are down, so I'm looking to spread the word and get anyone out that Willow might have missed. Go out the back and grab Xander and Dawn and Andrew."

"Be careful," Giles said, sending her a look of concern. Making his way towards Breannah, he held out his hand to her and said softly, "We must go now."

Buffy didn't wait to see if Giles would persuade her. He had to convince Breannah to cooperate. She knew it and he knew it, which meant that it would get done, no matter what.

Catching Spike's attention, Buffy sent him a nod then spun on her heels, leaving Giles to guide the girls out of the bloody room. Striding down the hallway headed towards the stairs, she and Spike stepped to the side as nearly two dozen Slayers rushed past them in the direction of the kitchen. Looks like Willow had gotten the message out with her witchy voodoo.

"Who else are we missing?" Spike asked, keeping pace with her as they turned a corner and rushed up the stairs.

"I dunno. But I know _what_ I'm missing and there's no way I'm leaving without it."

He snorted. "You women and your shiny ancient weaponry."

When they reached the communication station in the attic, Buffy entered in a code that opened the heavy, titanium-reinforced steel door. In the center of the armory, the Scythe lay on display. She wasted no time in lifting it from its resting place, letting the grooves of the hilt absorb the heat from her tight grip.

With a satisfied look, she said, "Time to go," and headed back down to second story level.

"You sure there's nothing else?" he snarked. "Maybe we forgot to turn the oven off."

"No, that's it," she said grimly, then paused when she remembered the Slayer footage saved on the hard drive back in the attic. "Oh, crap," she muttered and turned back towards the attic stairs.

"I knew you'd forgotten something!" Spike crowed.

From the far end of the hall, a woman shouted, "Buffy!"

She knew what that tone meant. She'd heard that tone combined with her name too many times to doubt it. People only called for her like that when they felt completely out of their depth and wanted her to come and save them, protect them, kill the bad monsters and keep the world safe from evil. And just as she was hardwired to recognize the urgency in the tone, she was hardwired to respond immediately to the call.

Except what she found at the end of the hall wasn't something she could slay.

Simone knelt inside the door of the bedroom, pressing both hands down on Faith's bloody thigh. Faith was leaning up against the wall, her eyes barely open. Simone shot Buffy a look of utter helplessness. "I can't get it to stop. It won't stop bleeding. I think… I think she's dying."

******


	33. Chapter 33

**  
**Chapter 33**  
**

She dropped to her knees, letting the Scythe clatter on the floor as she squeezed past Simone to lay her hands atop Faith's bloodsoaked jeans. There was so much blood. Too much blood. Faith moaned at the faint pressure on her wound where Buffy prodded, her eyelids fluttering open for a brief moment before drooping closed.

Spike huffed out a guttural snort and snapped his head back, stepping away from Buffy's side and backing up until he bumped into the bedside post.

"Spike?" Buffy asked. "What is it?"

"Give us a sec," he panted. He shook his head, forcing all the air out of his lungs with a laborious exhale. Reaching behind him, he fumbled with the bed linens, ripping the cover sheet out from under the comforter and tearing off one long strip. He tossed the makeshift bandage to Buffy, explaining, "Her femoral artery's nicked. You gotta make a tourniquet or she's gonna bleed out. Keep the pressure on. Tie it around the top of her thigh – _tight._"

"Is she gonna die?" Simone croaked. "She's not, is she? You can – you can do something, right? Ah fuck, she's gonna die."

"No," Buffy gritted out, steeling herself against Faith's weak moan as she lifted her leg and tied the bandage, knotting it with a harsh jerk. "She's a Slayer. She's strong. She's gonna make it." _She had to. _Crossing one hand atop the other, she pressed another stretch of cloth against the oozing blood from Faith's inner thigh. "We just have to keep the pressure on."

Her hands felt slick and hot from the blood soaking through the fabric and turning the yellow sheets-turned-bandages a dark red. But hot was good, hot meant life, and suddenly she wished her hands could push inside and knit together all the tears. She settled for squeezing her eyes shut then looking up at the ceiling, frantically blinking back the burning moisture threatening to swell up and push her over the edge.

"How? How did this happen?" Buffy asked, searching for signs of a struggle in the bedroom, intent on making sense of the senseless.

She noticed a rifle lying on the carpet at Spike's feet. He stood on the other side of the doorway near the bedpost, frozen, head bowed, eyes closed, shoulders tensed, fists clenched – his body quivered like a tightly drawn bow, contorting into uncontrolled shudder every few seconds. Slayer blood. It was affecting him – he was trying his hardest to not show it, to not shift to his gameface. She eyed the distance he'd put between them, feeling it stretch their invisible chord. She hated the distance now more than ever.

"That asshole came out of nowhere," Simone said, drawing Buffy's attention back to her. "He got in one lucky shot before we even knew he was here."

"What guy?" Buffy said, searching the room. She noticed the broken window on the wall opposite the open door and nodded at it. "Is that how he got in?"

"Nah. That's how he got out," Simone answered with a grim smile.

"Defenestration – only good thing about Prague," Spike grunted, his voice shaking underneath the bravado. "'Now that's the real Bohemian rhapsody."

Spike was shaken. Simone was shaken. She was shaken. They were all trying so hard to not show it. Trying and failing. Fear and uncertainty surged electric in the air, pushing the walls in too close, too tight. Her pulse thumped a frantic beat through her veins, loud enough for her to feel it underneath her skin.

A soft moan brought Buffy back to Faith whose head lolled against the wall and hung limply to the side. She was losing consciousness. And that? That was bad. Reaching forward, Buffy grabbed Faith by the chin and lifted her head. She leaned in close and snapped, "Faith, _fight_. You hear me? You don't get to die today."

When Faith showed no response, she shook her. Nothing. Gritting her teeth, she slapped Faith across the cheek, too light to hurt a Slayer, but hard enough that it would have bruised a normal human being. "_Faith_."

"Jeez, B," Faith wheezed, eyes fluttering open to glare at her. "I can't even get shot without you telling me I'm doing it wrong."

She muffled her gasp of relief, then said, voice wavering, "I'll make you a deal. You don't die on me and I'll stop ordering you around."

"Yeah, right," Faith chortled, her laugh turning into a cough that set her body shaking.

"I swear. But since you're still being all weak and kitteny, you're just gonna have to suck it up and do what I say for now."

"Bossy bitch," Faith coughed, the corners of her lips upturned.

"That's the job," Buffy said, giving her a tight smile, her cheeks aching from trying to keep her face from falling apart. She swallowed a sob and felt it warble in her chest. She knew if she let it loose, everything inside would break down and she just _couldn't_. Instead, she reached for Faith's hand. "It's gonna be okay. Willow can heal you. You'll be good as new."

"Ha, now I know you're lying," Faith teased, the strength in her voice fading. "I've never been good."

"Did you miss the part where you're not supposed to argue with me?" Buffy asked, anxiety bleeding into her voice as she watched Faith's gaze go blurry and distant. They were running out of time.

"You know me," Faith murmured. "My attention goes AWOL when you get all preachy."

"I'll break it down for you – shut up, don't die," Buffy ordered, leaning in and lifting Faith's arm up to hang around her neck, slipping her own arms under Faith's back and legs to hug her close, "and hold on to me."

"All this touchy feely crap is making me gag," Faith complained.

"Again with the not shutting up."

Faith's response was to snort into Buffy's collarbone.

"I can help," Simone offered, holding her hands out to search for a place to lift.

"I've got her," Buffy said, wobbling to her feet with Faith in her arms. With her Slayer strength she could carry five times Faith's weight, maybe more – the real difficulty lay in keeping her balance. She bent her knees and widened her stance to compensate. "Let's go," she said, nodding her approval when Simone picked the Scythe up off the floor and headed towards the door. "Spike?"

His eyes opened and connected with hers, stark determination written on his face. "I'll be right behind you."

Adjusting her grip and careful to avoid undue pressure on Faith's wound, Buffy headed towards the door. Every step was made with the express determination to not panic, to not falter, to keep moving forward. That was the plan. That was how they were gonna get through this. She was so busy repeating this mantra to herself that Simone's hands shoving her back with a shout, "Look out!" caught her completely off guard. She slammed into the wall just on the inside of the bedroom door. Her knees buckled, her body twisting to take the brunt of the fall and let Faith land on top of her.

The rapid staccato of shots fired. Faith moaning as she rolled off of her. Her body curling into a protective shield.

"No," Faith whimpered, looking past Buffy.

Buffy swung around to see Simone stagger and fall to her knees. She slumped to the floor, the Scythe slipping from fingers gone too limp to grasp its weight. The _rat-tat-tat_ crack and rush of tiny metal bits whooshed past to collide into wood, plastic, glass and flesh – shattering, ripping apart and tearing asunder. Destruction conquering speed and distance, devouring before death even registered in the eyes. _Rat-tat-tat_ crack.

All within an instant. Fast, so fast, too fast.

Hunkering down, crawling on her knees, Buffy reached for Simone's hand, dragging her out of the line of fire in front of the open doorway. Dark stains were spreading across Simone's stomach, blood leeching from the torn flesh on the right side of her neck. Buffy knelt in between Simone and Faith, the sides of her legs squeezed in between them lying on the floor.

"I-uh," Simone gurgled, the flexing muscles of her vocal chords forcing blood to bubble up and drip down her neck.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay," Buffy chanted, pressing shaky hands palms down around Simone's neck to stop the flow of blood, her pose an eerie inversion of strangulation. Keep the blood inside, keep the warmth inside, keep the life inside.

Faith's head lay turned towards Simone, watching, then her hand crawled across Buffy's lap to find Simone's, the weight of her arm pressing down on the tops of Buffy's thighs, anchoring her. Buffy's gaze met Faith's and behind the mutual fear, burgeoning panic and sheer helplessness lay a weary resignation.

Grief swam across Faith's face and left her eyes wet. "Buffy."

"No," Buffy said, shaking her head. "No. She's gonna be okay."

She pressed down harder on Simone's neck, hard enough that she could feel the contraction of Simone's fading pulse shiver inside the carotid artery. The shiver strengthened for one last gust then the vein fell into a death knell. Buffy could feel her own pulse pounding in her ears – its strident beat made the silence under her hands burn. Then _rat-tat-tat _crack and she saw Spike shooting around the corner of the door with the window-diving commando's abandoned rifle.

"Spike," she choked out, glaring at the rifle in his hands. "Don't."

"They're bloody well trying to kill us. They _are_ killing us," he snapped, back to the wall as a volley of bullets shot down the hall and through the bedroom doorway. "What do you want me to do?"

She lifted her bloodied hands and held them numbly in front of her, repeating, "Just don't."

"Fine, shoot to kill is off the menu," he growled, whipping the rifle around the corner to fire at the ceiling at the far end of the hall. "Cover fire's only gonna last so long, Slayer. Got any bright ideas?"

"I- I-" She looked around the room then at the window edged in broken shards of glass.

"Grrrawr!" Spike snarled through his fangs, shaking his hand and holding it up to examine the blood now seeping out of his palm. "The fucker hit bone."

A cylindrical tube fired into the room, banging off the back wall and landing near Spike's feet. A grenade. No, not a bomb grenade. What was it?

Spike snatched the cylinder up and chucked it back down the hall, ducking down as a blinding light and loud blast reverberating into the bedroom. The force made her ears ring. A stun grenade.

_Flashbang, _Riley's voice in her head instructed. _When it goes off, the enemy is incapacitated for five seconds. Five seconds without eyes and ears. Five seconds to make it count. _

Five seconds was all she had. It wasn't enough for them to get away. It wasn't enough for them to run to safety. Not all of them.

Eyes still burning from the blinding glare, she lifted Faith with adrenaline-induced speed and rushed towards Spike. His stood to meet her, eyes widened in confusion, his mouth moving soundlessly underneath the ringing in her ears. She didn't wait for him to understand her intent, just tossed Faith up in the air and watched in grim satisfaction as he caught her. She pointed at the open window. He nodded, spinning around to dive out the window.

The moment his back was turned, she ran. Not towards the window. Five seconds wasn't long enough for them to run away, not while carrying Faith. If Faith weren't injured, if it had just been Buffy and Spike – they could have made it. Maybe. Probably not. But with Faith injured, the soldiers would have definitely caught up with them before they'd gotten a hundred yards from the manor.

If she couldn't outrun the enemy then she'd run through it. She would be the distraction that insured escape.

Fives seconds – almost gone. Run _faster_.

The commandos were crouched around the corner at the end of the hallway. She couldn't see them, but she knew they were there. She could feel them through the walls. Her feet pounded against the floor and then she was airborne running full tilt into the wall, climbing up the flat surface until she ran horizontal to the floor. Spinning around the corner, she flew over the heads of seven commandos who were bent down on their knees, heads bowed against the lingering effects of the flashbang.

Coming down from the centripetal force that had kept her running along the wall, she leapt into a cartwheel spin to land on her feet. She never lost her momentum, just pushed forward, propelling herself harder and faster down the hall.

The soldiers shouted behind her. They were coming. Good. Follow the leader, boys.

The hallway opened up to a railed landing near the main stairs headed down to the foyer at the front door. Marching from the opposite side of the stairs on the second floor, four commandos halted at the sight of her and raised their rifles to take aim. From down below, another six commandos ran up the stairs to meet her.

"Hold your fire!" a commando barked the order from behind her. "That's the leader. Tranq her! We want her alive!"

Grabbing the railing with her right hand, she leapt up and jumped, flipping down to land in the center of the foyer. Her knees shook from the impact. She tumbled forward, never pausing in her sprint. She barreled through the open front door, soaring over the porch to land on the stone driveway.

Two spotlights scoured the drive, and a stream of bullets peppered the asphalt and stone in front of her. She dug in her heels, leaning back to keep from running into the spray from the machine guns manned in the two helicopters hovering overhead. A few dozen commandos ran towards her from the front of the property, closing in a half-circle around the manor. She fell back, bracing herself on her palms then clawing her way around to run back inside where she wasn't surrounded, where she could take cover and use her knowledge of the rooms to her advantage.

She was greeted at the doorway by seventeen rifles aimed at her head.

"Hands in the air! Get on your knees!" a commando snarled to her right, shaking the rifle to punctuate his demands.

No way out. Nowhere to run. No way to win. She couldn't fight them; not without killing someone. She _wouldn't_ fight them. Just because they thought she was a killer that needed putting down didn't mean she would stoop to their level. Her hands rose up slowly, palms facing out.

"On your knees, demon bitch!"

She flinched, eyes shuttering. She swallowed her anger, pushing it deep down inside. She had to push it down. It was the only way she could keep her hands from curling into fists. Her knees shook, resisting the command to bend. She wouldn't attack them. She'd raise her hands in surrender, but they could all go to hell before she'd kneel before them.

"We got ourselves a live one, Commander," a commando called out, dragging a body by the wrist into the foyer. "Doubt she'll last long. Gutshot. But hell, I thought she was dead at first till she opened her eyes and looked at me, so who knows what these Slayer bitches can do?"

The commando pulled the Slayer forward, tossing her into the center of the room. She rolled and landed on her back, blonde hair flaring out on the marble floor. Her face turned towards Buffy, blue eyes opening to reveal fear, then a desperate hope at the sight of Buffy standing across from her.

Tiffany. Tiffany Marie Cooper. She wasn't dead. Oh god, she wasn't dead.

Buffy shook from the hope flaring inside her chest. The hope she saw reflected in Tiffany's eyes that begged for her protection. Those eyes shined with hero worship and complete faith in Buffy – that she would save the day. Tiffany lay broken and bleeding, but she still believed. Buffy felt her knees go soft and bend towards the floor. She'd cooperate. Tiffany was more important than her pride.

"She needs a doctor," Buffy pleaded, raising her hands high in the air. "Please. I'll do anything you want."

The Commander strode over to Tiffany and nudged her with the toe of his boot. Tiffany moaned, turning to look up at him.

"We've got the leader," he said. "We don't need any more dead weight."

He pulled out his pistol and aimed it at Tiffany's forehead. The shot hit Tiffany in between the eyes, slamming her skull back against the marble floor.

"Bag her," the Commander ordered, jerking his head at Buffy.

Staring at Tiffany lying in front of her, blood pooling on the marble floor, Buffy slowly dropped her hands. She saw the blood drying on her palms. Simone's blood. Tiffany's blood. Their blood was on her hands. Everywhere she saw blood. Something snapped inside, something snarled primal, and everywhere she saw red.

The commando standing to her right stepped closer, raising the butt of his rifle to knock her in the temple. "I _said_ on your knees, demon bitch!"

She stood stock still, counting the moments, waiting for him to get closer. Rage nipped impatiently at her predator's stillness. Then she felt the whisper along her spine – _now _– and surged into motion, crushing his wrist, wrenching him down to his knees. She wrapped an arm around his neck, choking him, and reached for the knife holstered at his waist. He became her human shield. And when he became too bullet-ridden to be useful, she'd find another human shield. Then another and another until there was no one left.

They would all die. She wouldn't stop until they were all dead.

Buffy whipped the knife up in the air, locked onto the Commander standing in front of her and, aiming for his right eye socket, released the tension in her muscles and flung her arm forward.

A surge of heat flashed through her body and she gasped, shaking out of control. The room began to spin, whirling around her. Shapes blurred as her arm moved forward in slow motion, forcing its way through the air as it turned into an impenetrable mist. She lost hold of the commando under her arm, not because she let go, but because he melted away. The room flashed a blinding white and a howling wind encircled her, burning the moisture from her eyes. Her stomach lurched and she felt bile climb up her esophagus.

For a split second, her body was ripped apart and flung into a million different directions. Then, all the pieces of her snapped back into focus. Her feet were on solid ground. The air was smooth and clear. Her arm moved freely, releasing the knife. She watched it fly forward, straight at Spike's head, and her eyes widened in horror.

"Ah!" Spike yelped, clapping both hands in front of his nose to catch the knife an inch shy from slamming into his head. "Watch who you're aiming that at, Slayer."

Panting, Buffy took in the people surrounding her – Spike, Giles, Xander and Willow – before falling to her knees and vomiting into the grass. Forehead pressed into the grass, she blinked back tears before looking up to find Spike's hand outstretched and waiting to help her stand.

"Sorry about the teleporting," Willow apologized with a grimace. "I know you said only use it as a last resort, but I'm pretty sure a picture of what just happened is in the dictionary under 'last resort'."

Buffy nodded, still too shaken to speak, and took Spike's hand. He gripped her and pulled, letting her fall into his side and lean against him. She avoided his searching gaze, dropping her eyelids and looking down at the ground.

"But hey, at least we managed to snag your favorite toy with the teleporting fun," Xander added, nodding at the Scythe in Willow's hand.

Willow stepped forward and handed it to Buffy. "I didn't think you meant to leave it behind."

Buffy's hand closed around the hilt of the Scythe, her fingers shaking. She nodded again, still unable to push words past the knot in her throat.

"There were more important things to worry about at the time," Spike added, frowning when Buffy slipped her hand out of his hold.

"Is- is everyone okay?" Buffy managed to choke out.

"No worries," Willow said. "Faith, Connor and the others are resting. A little healing spell and they were all patched up."

"Resting where?" Buffy asked, confused. "Where are we?"

"A few miles north of the manor," Willow explained, nodding at a cabin behind her that blended into the surrounding woods. "There's a magical refuge here at the base of the mountains. I thought it was the best place for us to regroup."

"Sure, good…" Buffy murmured. "Good plan."

"Buffy, are you alright?" Giles asked with concern.

"Can they follow us?" Buffy countered. "Can they find us here?"

"No, absolutely one hundred percent _no_," Willow insisted. "I covered our tracks. We're safe here."

"Then I'm okay. I'll be okay." Buffy nodded. "I – uh, just need a minute. I need to walk it off."

"Sure, the teleportation spell takes a lot out of people," Willow said in sympathy. "Even Slayers."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed, head bowed. "I'm just gonna walk it off."

Without saying another word, she turned away from the cabin and walked through the woods, tripping over branches, pausing to lean against trees for a moment before pressing on. She finally stopped when she reached a ledge that dropped off into the valley below. The moonlight turned the leaves of the tree tops a dark blue-tinged green.

In the distance, she caught sight of the manor consumed in flames. They were burning it down. She squeezed her eyes shut, beating back the inward snarl as she imagined them torching her home.

"Those bastards sure know their way around mayhem and destruction," Spike said, stepping out of the trees to stand beside her. When he slid close enough to brush against her shoulder, she jerked to the side and wrapped her arms across her chest. "Buffy. You alright?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head.

"Buffy?" he asked, taking hold of her shoulders and gently turning her towards him. "It's not your fault. What happened-"

"You're wrong. That's a lie," she whispered, eyes still closed. "It is my fault. They're dead because I made a bad call. Because of my mistakes."

"You did everything in your power to keep them safe. You even played your kamikaze bollocks card. Which, by the way, I'm still pissed off about." He gripped her chin. "Hey, look at me. It's not your fault. Don't punish yourself."

She laughed with an edge of hysteria. "Punish myself? You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then tell me."

"I want to kill them," she said coldly, grasping the Scythe in both hands with a painful grip. "I want to tear them apart. I want them to _suffer_ before they die. I want them _all dead_." She looked at him, her eyes burning with hate, lips trembling. Her body shook as she opened her hands and let the Scythe drop to the ground. "Don't let me. Please," she begged, her voice breaking. "Please, don't let me."

"You would never," he growled, hands cupping her cheeks.

"I would," she whispered, shaking in his arms, her hands clutching at his wrists. "I would. I never wanted it before. I've never felt this. It won't go away. I can't make it _stop_. Please," she sobbed, tears streaming down her face. "Oh god, what's happening to me?"

******


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34  
**

_So this is torture. This is torment. Bloody soul. _

Spike enfolded her in his arms, holding her up when her knees went limp then sliding to the ground to cradle her in his lap. He'd seen her pushed to the edge of exhaustion, physically and emotionally beaten, but this – he'd never seen her destroyed. Her sobs went past the edge of high-pitched keening, diving into spasms of guttural rasps and moans.

No words he could give her. No comfort he could offer. There was only her pain and despair battering at his heart. God, it made him want to lay down with her in the grass, eyes closed, and curse the world into the end of existence.

Take the world, Apocalypse. Won't fight you today. Just be sure those fucking bastards who did this get a special place in Hell.

He'd felt her suffering before, a silent anguish over heaven lost and the drab sorrow of everyday life. Then, her numb grief had strengthened her mask, her stoicism that separated her from outward emotions. The too-much emotions that brackened at her walls, threatening to upset her shaky inner balance. He'd once wondered if the distance had kept her sane. Well, saner.

He'd felt her suffering then. Rather he'd known she was suffering even though he hadn't understood it. He could see her feeling it and wished it away.

Here, now – her walls were stripped down, burned to the bloody ground, leaving her naked and shivering. And then the overwhelming desolation flooded over. She'd capsized and the undertow had pulled him down into that dark place that strangled hearts. His heart hadn't been ready for this, hadn't known this torment before.

The difference between sympathy and empathy had never been clearer – pain had a way of clarifying things.

Was this the godawful fate of the ability to feel? Sensitive souls were doomed to suffer for actions only contemplated? To drown in oceans of guilt for crimes yet to be committed?

Bloody soul. The brightest, the best were just a lodestone for suffering and self-castigation.

It was all well and good when the soul made with the compassion and commiseration – sharing love and a belief in a better… _something_ better. Softness of the heart – it bridged the divide of space and flesh, gave birth to empathy. A vulnerable connection – sharing strength of the spirit. And somehow that sum of a multitude of souls outweighed its individual parts. So reaching out, being vulnerable, held this promise – together, connected, strong.

And wasn't that the rub?

Strong, but only in the _right_ circumstances. The bloody problem with vulnerability was that it left you _vulnerable_. Vulnerable in a world full of evil bastards ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness. Case in point – the strongest woman he'd ever known was reduced to a sobbing mess in his arms.

He wanted to rage at the bastards who'd done this to her – rip out their throats, snap their necks, tear their heads off and drink from the bleeding stumps. He could torture them for days (_thanks Brooding Wonder_) given the right motivation and it didn't get any righter than this.

He wanted to shake her for not jumping out of the window with him. Why did she always have to be so damned heroic? Why did martyrdom always trump her sense of self-preservation?

He wanted to curse himself for leaving her behind. Why hadn't he known she was going to do something damned heroic? He should have known. _Idiot_. She _always_ did.

He wanted to force her to tell him what happened after he'd left. If he knew what went wrong, what pushed her over the edge, he could tear it apart and show her how unimportant the rended pieces were to her.

He swallowed his wants. What he wanted didn't matter. What she needed – that pulse beat inside his dead heart.

She needed his softness now, whatever crumbs he could scavenge up, whatever depths of kind reserves he could plumb and bring to bear.

For her.

And so he held her. He held her, rode the waves with her, and waited for the deafening quiet when there was no more pain to sob out of her chest. Because that's when she would need him the most. When there was nothing left to hold onto, not even pain, when there was nothing left to hope for, when it felt like there was simply nothing left – when the nothing came, she wouldn't be alone. He would be there.

Paltry comfort, that – his presence – but it was all he had to offer.

With a final shudder, Buffy went limp in his arms. Her forehead pressed against his sternum, her hands unclenching their grip on his t-shirt to fall into her lap, cradled between them. She shivered with the aftershocks of a too-violent release of grief, then raised her head to look at him, neck swaying from side to side. Red-rimmed and framed by lashes caked with tears, her eyes were heavy-lidded and empty of expression, hazel depths gone gray. The color of mourning – the color of ashes after the fire's gone cold.

A smear of blood stained her cheek. He stared, riveted at the drying red painted on her. Not out of hunger, though by all rights he should be ravenous. No, the churning twist in his gut – that was disgust. Revulsion. The red didn't belong there, glaring bright on tan skin gone sallow, running diagonal horror underneath eyes dimmed. As if all her natural colors had been leeched away by the bright, garish slash.

His thumb brushed the dried blood on her cheek, rubbing away at stray flecks. She raised her own hand to touch her cheek out of self-conscious habit, her pupils dilating at the blood staining her palms, grits of death stuck under her nails. She looked at him, numb and weary – _there is blood on my hands there will always be blood this is who I am now_ – and dropped her hand into her lap, head falling to the side to rest against his shoulder. Her eyes remained open, distant and unseeing.

Now what?

He shifted her in his arms, grabbed the Scythe, and rose to his feet. She let him carry her, she just let him and the wrongness of it stabbed his heart. His fingers dug into her too tightly as he hoped for her to protest and demand to be put down. She merely watched him with a complete lack of curiosity or concern. He had the disturbing thought that she'd have looked at the reaper with the same hollow gaze. It wasn't about trust – he was sure she was beyond that now – but an inability to care.

He slowly traced the way back to the make-shift camp, through the sparse trees. It wasn't so much a forest as a glen of tall grass and bushes. The cold water seeping into his boots took him by surprise. He'd walked in ankle deep before he'd noticed the stream cutting through the grass.

"Just what the doctor ordered," he murmured, stepping back and kneeling on the bank.

He slid Buffy off his lap, steadying her next to him before plunging his hands into the frigid waters. Spring in Scotland was cold as hell – just another reason to revile the place. Cupping water in his right hand, he brushed his knuckles against her cheek, molding his palm to the curve of her face and rubbing away at the blood staining her. He stopped when her skin was chafed a clean pinkish red and goosebumps shivered across her skin.

Holding her hands by the wrists, he hesitated for a moment before immersing them in the water and scrubbing away at the blood. She gasped at the shock of cold, the first sound from her in what felt like an eternity of silence, and shivered. Pulling her hands out of the water, he began to rub them between his own, hoping to create warmth from the friction. Cursing his lack of body heat, he shrugged his duster off his shoulders and pulled his shirt off, wrapping the cotton around her hands and continuing to rub furiously. Giving her hypothermia hadn't been part of the game plan.

"Are you-" she paused, teeth clenching against a full-body shudder. "Are you tr-trying to distract me with your hot body?"

He looked down at his bare chest and snorted. "Hadn't really thought it through." He squinted at her. "Is it working?"

"It's gonna take more than rock-hard abs," she whispered, smiling a bit brokenly. "Ju-just so you know."

"Have you seen my ass?" he asked with a smirk, eyebrow raised. "I'm not worried."

She coughed out a laugh. "Yep. You're the fairest of them all."

"And don't you forget it." He leaned in close, hand cupping her neck. "I thought this was the perfect seduction scenario. Moonlit glen, beautiful lady all aquiver with- eh, let's be generous and call it desire, romantic dolmens blessing the union…"

"Dolmens?"

"Fairy doorways for lovers. So the rumor goes. Though some say they're just Celtic ritualistic stone thing-a-ma-bobs." He nodded at the stone slabs at the opposite end of the clearing. "I prefer the romantic reading, myself."

"You're right. This," she looked around her then gazed at him solemnly, still shivering, "is perfect. Take me. Take me now. Oh, you irresistible hunk o' burning love."

A slow smile lit up his face. "You big tease," he drawled, pulling her forward to press his lips to her forehead. He held himself there for a long moment then brushed his lips across her eyelids. Resting his forehead against hers, he closed his eyes in relief and released a pent-up sigh.

She shivered in his arms, body fighting off the cold and a warmth settled in his gut. Because she was _fighting_ now. Again. Always.

He ran his hands down her arms, rubbing briskly, before removing the sodden mess of his t-shirt wrapped around her hands and stuffing it into the pocket of his duster lying on the grass.

"So what do you think? Up against that tree or just do it here in the grass?" He paused briefly, mentally weighing his options before nodding. "We should do it here in the grass – finish what we started earlier." He brushed her hair back off her forehead, sending her a teasing smile when she failed to respond. "I'm _kidding_."

"I know," she whispered, her smile faltering. Her shoulders hunched up against the light shivers shaking through her.

He ran his fingertips through her hair, brushing down her neck and across her collarbone, squeezing her upper arms before dropping his hands atop hers. "Told you Scotland was a bad place to set up shop."

She let out a quiet laugh. "What _was_ I thinking?"

He chuckled, breathing in the peaceful quiet that settled between them. Then with a sigh, "Do you know what it's like to live with a demon inside you? A demon and a soul?"

"I think I'm starting to," she answered, her voice shaking.

"No. You're _not_," he denied, giving her a hard look. "Besides, that was a rhetorical question. Whatever dark place inside that's got you spooked, it's nothing compared to my demon."

"Fine. You win," she said with a twinge of bitterness. "You're the biggest bad there ever was."

He scoffed, shaking his head at the idea of winning. "If first prize is a front seat on the rollercoaster to hell, then hand me the giant-sized teddy bear to go with it. Pretty sure I'm damned for all the things I've done, let alone all the things I've thought of doing. And that's _with_ a soul. I'm not planning on sharing this with all the kiddies, but I suspect you already know a part of me wanted to slurp down all the blood gushing from Faith's thigh, suck her dry and lick the wound." His voice dropped to a low muse. "Did you know blood from the femoral artery tastes just a little bit sweeter? Different kind of sweetness than from the neck. Top that with Slayer blood and I'm salivating at the thought. Hell, maybe I'll get lucky and Faith'll have a papercut that needs sucking when we get back."

"Stop it," she ground out, glaring at him.

"No. It's my turn now. And you get to listen." He held her by the shoulders, leaning in close to stare her in the eyes. Unblinking. Unwavering. "The second she landed in my arms, the second you tossed her fate into my hands, I wanted to drop her to the ground and devour her. To feed. To make her gasp as I sucked the life out of her." His hands reflexively tightened on her shoulders. "Preying on the weak, the injured – it's the most natural thing in the world to me. Instinct. Fighting to be something more than the animal within – that's something I had to _learn_. That's something I have to work for every second of every day. And you know who taught me that? You."

"It's different," she denied, shaking her head from side to side. "This is different."

"Bollocks," he snarled. "The only difference is your holier-than-thou complex took a hard one to the kisser. No, look at me," he ordered, holding her by the neck with both hands when she jerked away. "Evil lives inside us. All of us. It's everywhere. But it doesn't define who we are. It doesn't define _you_. Whatever shadow has you running for cover, I promise you it can't compare to the good inside."

"No," she gasped. "Not anymore. Not now."

"Yes, _now_. I'm not surprised you have trouble seeing it." He leaned back on his haunches, smiling with a touch of whimsy. "Does the sun know the warmth it breathes? No. It simply is." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "There are a million truths I question. Sometimes I'm so full of doubts it spins me 'round. I lose sight of people. Of myself. Of what's important. Then I look at you and I remember what matters most. Do what's right and follow your heart – that's all you are. You _know_ that, deep inside." He shrugged. "Maybe you forgot for a minute there. It happens to the best of us. Guess you're lucky I'm here to remind you."

"God, you're so full of yourself."

"Being cocky doesn't mean I'm not right."

"No. Being _not right_ means you're not right."

"Then answer me this. If you're so evil, if the darkness is rising inside, then why are you so bent out of shape? Being truly evil means you don't _care_. And I'm here to tell you, sweetheart, my arms are still aching from your demonstration of how much you care."

"That's just it. I still don't care what happens to them. They can all go to hell for all I _care_."

"And you think that makes you inhumane? They're brutal killers. Worse than demons. They're brutal killers with souls. So you tell me – where'd the inhumanity really start? When does a person stop being a person and become a monster?"

"I dunno," she whimpered. "But I felt it. I felt it crawl into me."

"You felt _them_ crawl into you. All the evil they'd done. The inhumanity of human beings. People can be monsters, too. People become monsters when they choose to turn their backs on the good inside. You've seen it before."

"Sure, but always from the outside. I've never felt it. I've never been it."

"So keep it on the outside."

"How? _How? _I don't know _how_."

"Hold onto the good. To caring. To mercy. You hold onto you," he placed his hand atop her heart, "in here."

She shuddered against his hand, laying her own on top of his and bowing her head, eyes closed. "Bad things are coming," she whispered. "Do you remember before? When I went to see the Shadowmen? It was like that. Only I went forward. And I saw - I saw what's coming." Fear trembled in her eyes. "I'm not sure if I can stop it. Or if I'm the _cause_ of it. What if I'm the thing that needs to be stopped? I don't know what to do. _I don't know_."

He held her hands in his, clasping them in his solid grasp. "You can't base your decisions on some unknown apocalyptic Boogeyman."

"How can I not? Everything around me feels like a warning sign. And if I don't listen, then it really will be my fault. If I don't try to stop it, then..."

"You deal in the here and now. That's all you _can_ do. One step at a time. Live in the present - not the future or the past. 'Cause that's the only way _to_ live." He sighed and shook his shoulders loose. "And speaking of the present, the sun's rising."

"A brand new day. New chances to screw up," she murmured with a tinge of bitterness.

"That and I'm about to go flambé with a side of ash on you. But really, no need to hurry. This seems like a nice enough place to go dust in the wind."

"Enough with the dark humor, 'kay?" she snapped, wobbling to her feet and pulling him up with her. "We need to get inside."

"Sure," he agreed with a too-cool shrug, sliding his duster on. "Why not?"

He bent down to grip the Scythe, rising up to hand it to her. She hesitated before taking it in her hand and letting it bang against her hip. They stepped across the stream, walking past the dolmen stones and through the brush. Silence again, but more peaceful this time. He'd take what he could get.

"You look like you escaped from an 80's music video," she snarked suddenly, staring at his bare chest underneath his leather coat. "All you're missing is the body glitter."

"Hey! I thought we nixed the body glitter talk." He shuddered and placed a hand on his chest protectively. "It's a bleedin' crime against nature."

"You're a vampire," she tossed over her shoulder, pushing through the bushes and back towards the cabin. "You _are_ a crime against nature."

"Oh yeah, well it's also tacky," he sneered. "And only poofters wear glitter anyways. Which, now that you mention it, would be the perfect present for the one and only Poofter in my life. What do you think he'd fancy? Silver glitter or more of a rainbow variety?"

She half giggled, half snorted. "Oh god, please don't. I might die laughing."

"It's not the worst way to go, though I can think of better," he said, leering.

"Pig," she shot back with a fond smile.

"What?" he exclaimed. "I was talking 'bout going down in the heat of battle. Glory till the last. Hell of a way to exit stage left."

"I'd rather go from old age," she mused, stopping at the edge of the brush when she caught sight of the cabin ahead. "Maybe just slip away while I was sleeping. Peaceful."

He stopped at her side and bumped into her shoulder. "Hey now. You're breaking the rules. Not allowed to talk about dying when you're all serious-like. Gotta laugh in the face of death – only way to do it."

"What if I don't feel like laughing?"

"Fake it till you make it, sweetheart."

She grabbed him by the front of his coat and pulled him close, murmuring, "Are you really encouraging me to fake it? Aren't you worried what that'll say about you?"

He eyed her hungrily, tongue playing with the edges of his teeth. "Don't worry, love. When it comes to that, you'll be too busy thanking your lucky stars."

She rolled her eyes and shoved him towards the cabin door. "Get inside before I decide some time with Mr. Sunshine might make you less insufferable."

"Insufferable? Ouch," he drawled, opening the door and stepping aside to let her pass. "I would have gone with damned sexy. Or fiendishly charming."

"How about annoying?" she suggested with a laugh, walking into the cabin. "Would you go for that?"

"Finally!" Kennedy snapped, glaring at Buffy across the cramped main room of the cabin filled with twenty-odd Slayers. "What took you so long?"

"I had to take care of something," she answered. "But I'm back so…"

"_So_ we've got trouble and we just wasted an hour wondering where our leader was when we should have been making a plan."

Buffy's head snapped back at Kennedy's angry tone. "Okay. Time out. What-"

"No. No timeouts!" Leah interrupted. "We have to come up with a plan. Like yesterday."

"Calm down," Giles ordered. "We're not going to reach a solution by panicking."

"And we'd be panicking why?" Buffy asked. "Willow said we're safe here. So let's rest up and come up with a plan."

"Yeah, that's a great idea," Kennedy snapped. "Except if you'd been around you'd know that Willow is busy working her magical ass off trying to keep us off the radar." She pointed at the corner behind her where Willow sat on the floor, Indian-style, eyes closed and beads of sweat dripping from her temples. "Those soldier guys are tracking us and they're using magic to do it. So if the plan is to die immediately after resting up, then I vote we not go with your plan. 'Cause it sucks."

"We need to get out of here," Rowena added. "We need to move before they find us."

Buffy shot Spike a look of concern. "We need to think of the wounded. They're not up for this yet."

"We're okay, B," Faith said, nodding at Connor who sat in between her and Lara on the couch up against the wall. "Beauty of healing magic."

"We should wait until nightfall," Buffy insisted. "It'll be harder for them to track us."

"Are you not listening?" Kennedy snapped. "Willow's not gonna make it that long. And it being dark outside isn't gonna help because _they're using magic_."

"Ken, chill," Faith urged.

"Yeah, because the tension in the room is skyrocketing to making-me-nauseous levels," Xander said quietly, taking the hand towel from Dawn's hand to dab at Willow's forehead.

"I'm not gonna chill. I'm not gonna pretend everything's okay. Just like I'm not gonna pretend that the only reason _you_," Kennedy glared at Buffy, "don't wanna leave is because your boyfriend has a serious sun allergy."

"That's not- that's not it," Buffy stammered. "You're way out of line."

"People are dying," Breannah jumped in. "Our friends are dead. And I don't wanna be next."

"We need to leave," Kennedy said. "_Now_."

"Buffy, there is an urgency here that cannot ignored," Giles said.

"I'm not ignoring it. There just has to be another way. We can't let them separate us."

"Do you even care?" Breannah asked. The accusation made the room fall silent. "It's like you don't even care."

"Of course I _care_," Buffy answered, an edge of hurt sneaking out. "I- I…"

"You were laughing when you came back a minute ago," Breannah continued shakily. "Like this is a joke or something. How can you _laugh_ when they're dead?"

"I'm not- I- I don't…"

Spike's hand squeezed her shoulder as he stood tall next to her. "So the plan is to hightail out of here. Everybody goes but me. And I'll catch up come nightfall. Good?" He eyed the room waiting for each gaze to drop in acquiescence before turning to Buffy.

Buffy shook her head, at a loss for words.

He nodded once, leaned in as if to share a secret, and with a soft loving smile, whispered, "It'll be okay. I'll be right behind you."

"I can't just leave you behind," she whispered, tilting her head to the side to match his understanding angle. "Alone. It's not… I can't. I won't."

"He won't be alone," Connor said, standing up and walking to Spike's side.

Spike rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "God save me from your company, Junior."

"Yeah, yeah. Just so you know, you're gonna owe me for saving you from dying of loneliness. Add that to the list right under getting me plastered, then chained up and tortured. So you can take all that daylight time stuck inside to think of ways to repay me." Connor clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll even help if you get stuck and need some suggestions. I've been reading consumer reports on the Kindle. Oh, and you might as well show me how to count cards for my birthday trip back to Vegas. Which you'll be taking me on. And funding."

Catching sight of Connor's mischievous grin, Spike groaned, "Can't we just skip the torture and kill me now?"

******

To Be Continued…


	35. Chapter 35

A quiet descended and they were the only two people in the world. They shared breath and stillness and a unity of self. But that closeness only made the divide pulling them apart cut like a knife.

What was that word her poetry professor had used to describe a pain so intense it eclipsed itself and bordered on pleasure?

Sublime.

She hated sublime so freakin' much. Having love and pain all mixed up…

The marriage of heaven and hell in her heart. Just another cruel joke in the existence of one Buffy Summers.

"I love you," she whispered, leaning in close to him. Her hands ached to grip him, to hold him to her. "I don't want to leave you behind. I can't."

"Don't really have a choice. That's always the way of it." Spike brushed his knuckles across her cheek. "Don't worry. I'll always be with you. Inside." He raised his hand to show her the blood staining his knuckles. "Guess it's not so easy to wash off, eh?"

She rubbed at her cheek, gasping at the blood dripping from her hands. "Oh, god," she moaned. "It won't come off."

"Hey," he snapped, gripping her by the chin and forcing her to look at him. "This is what happens. You reap what you sow."

"I- I - I didn't mean to. I never wanted this to happen."

He rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated huff. "No one wants this to happen. It just does. It's your nature. I thought we'd already worked this out." He swung his arm to point at the rolling hills behind him where the sun began to crest the horizon.

"Spike," she gasped, grabbing him by the arm. "We have to get inside. The sun-"

"It's alright." He shook her off. "You need to see this. Need to see it in the light."

The sun burned orange shadows, casting low lights over the hills. Darkness retreated as the sun's glow illuminated the hills under a gray husk of fog.

Buffy squinted through the fog. "I don't understand."

"You still can't see it, can you? Figures you'd be willfully blind to it. Stubborn to the last."

He bent down, swiping his arms at the fog at their feet. The gray mist dispersed to reveal a round lump lying on the ground.

She knelt to examine the shape, waving away the fog. "What is it? Oh, oh god," she cried, staring in horror at the glassy brown eyes resting atop exotic cheekbones, matted brown hair hanging limp around her face. Kennedy's head was cut off at the neck.

Buffy fell back, landing on her elbows. She turned to the right and spied a dark shadow in the fog swimming above the long grass. The fog thinned to reveal a pair of broken glasses that lay lopsided on a face sporting a gash that cracked open the man's skull at the temple.

"Giles," she whimpered, watching the rising sun burn the fog away to reveal his broken body lying next to her in the damp grass.

"Buffy, come on now," Spike said, holding his hand out to her. He grunted in annoyance when she failed to respond, grabbing her by the arm and jerking her upright.

She shook under his grip. "The sun. How can you…?"

"It's not coming for me, love," he answered, shaking his head. "Fog's clearing out. A matter of minutes now. Maybe less."

Her eyes felt so dry that they might crack. She stared at the bodies surrounding her. Dawn lay in a tangle of broken limbs four feet to her right. Xander was… oh, god. And Willow. And the Slayers. Everywhere. They were all dead.

"How did they find us? How did this happen? Oh, god." The tears streamed down her face, mingling with the blood on her cheeks.

"Buffy, you know how this happened," he growled. "You were there. Christ, you _know_."

She shook her head, whipping it from side to side. He growled again and lunged forward to grab her hand and lift it up. Within her fist, the Scythe glinted in the muted light of the morning sun, the silver edge of the blade dripping blood. The hilt was slick with blood, the wooden stake stained a deep red.

"No," she whispered, eyes wide with terror. Her hand shook underneath his grip.

"_Yes_," he insisted, shaking his head. "I didn't think it would go down like that."

"I- I killed them…? Oh, god," she croaked.

_Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead_, Professor Lillian intoned in his solemn, booming voice to the back row of the lecture hall in her mind.

"It all happened in an instant," he mused, his voice gone distant and detached. "You made me promise and I…" He hung his head. "I failed you. Again. I'm sorry, love. Bloody good for nothing, I…"

The sun rose high in the sky, rocketing up to shine down its deadly rays on his head. She flinched at the glare, shutting her eyes against the too-bright light. The smell of burning flesh forced her eyes open and she gasped at the sight of his bright silhouette outlined by the sun's rays. He was pale, porcelain fair, and his eyes were so blue in the light of day. He was beautiful. And he looked so… sad. Resigned.

"No," she gasped, terrified for him. "Spike, the sun-"

"Forgive me, Buffy," he whispered, sending her a mournful look. He cupped her cheek. "Rest in peace."

Flaming raging fire and burning flesh – pain, yes, pain. Her numbness melted away under the realization that her limbs were igniting. She felt the pads of her fingertips dissolve into ash. She moaned for a brief moment then swallowed her fear.

Death.

Yes, please. Oh, yes, please, yes.

Only death could stop her now.

The fire spread through her, turning her skin to ash as the blaze ran deep into her core. She felt the flames lick at her heart. The intense burn melted her chest then burst, reverberating through her body in one great wave of ash.

She was no more. She was nothing.

Good. The world was safe now.

The world was safe from-

Buffy.

_Buffy. _

"Buffy!" Faith shook her, snapping Buffy's head back against the headrest of her seat.

Heart racing, Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and hugged her hands under her elbows. She pushed herself back into the hard cushioning of the bus' seat. The bus they'd commandeered from a 'friend' in a nearby village a few hours past dawn. Untraceable.

She spotted Willow sitting across the aisle with Kennedy at her side. Willow's eyes were closed in a trance-like state. Not sleep, nope, 'cause apparently the only person stupid enough to sleep was their quote unquote fearless leader. Anyways, yeah, definitely untraceable. Yay magic.

"Where are we?" Buffy asked in a hoarse voice, turning around to do a head count of the Slayers and wiccans sitting behind her.

Dawn lay against Xander's shoulder three rows behind them, dead to the world. Asleep-dead, not dead-dead. God, the wrongness of epic proportions in her brain needed to stop. Everyone else was sitting in tense silence, sharing the occasional whisper before settling down in glum fear. She knew the feeling, she thought with a shiver. Wait, where was Lara?

Faith shrugged, drawing Buffy's attention back to the front of the bus. "Halfway to Edinburgh. Giles said he knew a guy who might be able to help us lay low." She nodded at him in the driver's seat. "Way I figure, it'll be easier to hide in a big city so..." She trailed off, slumping down into her seat and tossing a foot up on the back of the chair's armrest in front of her.

"Yeah," Buffy murmured, watching Kennedy hold Willow's hands in her own. Transferring power. Sharing strength. "Easier to hide. Go us."

Faith fidgeted with the bloodstained gash in her jeans, her expression blank.

"Are you okay?" Buffy asked with a frown. When Faith didn't respond, she prodded her again, "Faith?"

"Huh?" Faith asked with a blink. "Oh. Yeah. Five by five." She spit out a dry laugh. "Why wouldn't I be? It's not like I died or something." Buffy looked at Faith with sympathy, causing her to curse, "Jeez, stop looking at me like that. I'm _fine_. So what's the plan? Do we even have a plan or are we flying by the seat here? 'Cause I wanna know if I get to improv – I don't want you bitchin' at me later for not following your lead."

"Plan?" Buffy raised both eyebrows. "Uh, running away seems to be the plan. Laying low. Not dying."

"So what? Killing the fuckers isn't a run in our playbook?" Faith ripped at a shred in the leather of the seat in front of her. "Figured."

"Yeah, definitely _not_ part of the plan," Buffy confirmed. Unfortunately. Or not. She couldn't tell anymore. What she wanted and what she should do didn't seem to line up so easily anymore.

"Nah. It's good. We don't make with the killing. Good call." Faith scoffed. "It's like a fucking riddle. How do you stop a murderer when you're not allowed to fight back?" She punched at the back of the seat in front of her. "Did I ever tell you how much I hate those ass-brained riddles?"

"I'm not exactly a fan," Buffy said with a dry, mockery of a smile.

"It's like they're rigged to make anyone who isn't a genius feel stupid." Faith squinted over at Willow. "Bet Red likes riddles."

Willow's eyes shot open. "Riddle what now?"

"It's nothing," Kennedy reassured her, glaring at Buffy and Willow. "I'm sure they didn't mean to mess up your rhythm. I've got you, babe."

Faith snorted. "Right, my bad. This is me shutting up so you can do your mojo."

"Sorry, Wills," Buffy said softly.

"No, it's okay," Willow answered with a wince. She rubbed at the tension in her temples. "I weaved some heavy magical blinders. A lot of false trails to put them off our scent. We should be clear now."

"Should be?" Buffy echoed.

"Should ain't good enough," Faith retorted.

"Back off," Kennedy snapped. "It's not like anyone else has been lifting a finger to save our asses except Willow."

"So riddle what now?" Willow changed the subject, squeezing Kennedy's hand to quiet her.

"It's the name of the game," Faith answered. "How do you stop bloodhounds going for your throat when you've gotta pull your punches?"

"You get Dad's hunting rifle and put the rabid dog down," Kennedy replied with a superior rise of her eyebrow.

"No," Buffy whispered so quietly it went unnoticed. No, can't shoot the rabid dog. So what do you do?

"Hey! Maybe that's what we should do," Faith derided. "Call Ken's daddy and file a complaint. Dear Mr. Richer Than God, please save us from the assholes trying to kill us deader than a chicken…"

"Oh yeah, great. That's really helping a lot. Thanks," Kennedy said, her voice dripping in sarcasm.

"Can we not do the fighting thing?" Willow asked, continuing to rub her temples.

"Aw, I'm sorry, babe," Kennedy murmured, gently pushing Willow's hands aside to rub away at the tension headache.

Faith sighed and turned back to Buffy to share an eye roll. "They're so cute you could die, right?" Her eyes shuttered as soon as the words left her mouth. "Damn. Shit."

"It's okay," Buffy whispered, dropping her gaze at the tormented look in Faith's eyes.

She didn't say the name. She wanted to say it, but she couldn't. Not even in her own mind. She couldn't even see her face. Or hear her voice. All she could feel was the blood gushing into her palms. She could still feel the moment when death took her away – took _Simone_ away. And-

"What do you think your boyfriend's doing now?" Faith asked, her voice too hoarse to pull off idle curiosity. She was choking back tears.

Had Buffy ever seen Faith cry? Did Faith even know _how_ to cry?

"Sucks he got stuck playin' house," Faith continued. "He's not bad to have around when the situation gets ugly." Faith picked at her jeans again. "So what do you think loverboy's up to?"

******

"It's a soddin' mess, that's what. You sure you didn't find any detergent or suds in the cupboards?" Spike asked, dunking his black t-shirt in the sink full of hot water. "These bloody blood stains aren't comin' out."

"Uh, you do realize that hot water sets stains, right?" Connor noted, leaning up against the wall of the kitchenette behind Spike.

"And how the hell am I supposed to know that? Haven't exactly made my way doing laundry for six pence the past hundred years, now have I? Ooooh, hot water sets stains, know-it-all twit," he grumbled to himself, pulling the plug out of the sink and letting it drain before turning the cold faucet tap on.

"I heard that," Connor snarked.

"I know," Spike said, shooting him a dark look over his shoulder.

"Are you done with the Betty Homemaker routine? I thought we were gonna play Texas Hold'em."

"Gotta get my kit in gear before we set out come sunset." The tingle at the nape of his neck told him it was fast approaching. About bloody time. His cabin fever was fast mounting into homicidal fever. What did you call the urge to kill your vampire grandsire's human son?

"What? The scent of blood driving you batty?"

"Are you trying to make me bite you?" Spike snarled, wringing his shirt so tight that all the cold water sprayed across the kitchen.

"Starved, huh? Gonna snack on the only person in the world who didn't leave you all on your lonesome?"

"Right now, on my lonesome sounds like Allah's heaven minus the seventy-two virgins," Spike shot back, shaking his shirt in the air. He continued in a murmur, "Virgins never was my thing anyways…"

He held the shirt up, took its measure then eyed Connor's smart mouth. No, the boy would get out of the makeshift gag in two seconds flat and then he'd be out one shirt. Bloody as it was, it was still all he had.

"What are you looking at?" Connor asked, squinting his eyes in suspicion.

"Nothing," Spike dismissed his question, pulling his wet shirt over his head and slipping on his duster. "Come on. Sun's down. And if you say one more word about that stupid Kindling thing, I will _bite_ you."

"Kindle. _Kin-dle_. It's an electronic device that you read e-books on," Connor explained, following Spike out the cabin door. "Jeez, live under a rock much?"

"What idiot came up with the idea to reinvent the book?" Spike said, his long strides eating up the terrain as they followed the path Willow had sent them, headed northeast towards Edinburgh. "It's like reinventing the wheel. When you finally get it right, shut your trap and go home."

"Next you're gonna start bitching about the invention of horseless carriages, right? Dad said you're from the Victorian period, so that means you rode around in some frou-frou carriage and had horses and whatnot. Did you leave calling cards when you visited people? Isn't that kinda pansy-ish?"

"Are you nuts? Automotive innovation is the best thing to come out of the last century," Spike retorted, ignoring the accusation of any pansy tendencies. Best keep that door firmly shut. The boy didn't need his help with the verbal ammunition. "Speaking of pansies, you talked with your dear old dad of late?"

"Uh… yeah, sure."

"Oh, really," Spike paused, scenting a weakness, "And what'd he have to say?"

"Okay, so I haven't talked to him," Connor said, jerking his shoulder defensively.

"And why's that?" Damn, that came out far more understanding than he'd intended. The boy was permanently kindling his soft spot. Grrargh – kindle. Sod it.

"Because maybe I'm tired of him telling me what he wants me to be. What he hopes I'll become. Maybe I'm tired of being his redemption. It's like I have to live my life to the fullest in his eyes or I've let him down. That's just… too much pressure." Connor shrugged. "So I thought it'd be fun hanging with you for a bit. Since you don't have any ambitions and you don't give a rat's ass what I do. Takes the edge off."

"Was that supposed to be a compliment?" Spike asked, face screwed up in confusion.

"I'm just saying you're more fun than my dad. Less uptight."

"Damn right I am. Your dad's got a stick up his ass so big I'm surprised it hasn't staked him in the heart and ended his self-flagellation."

"That's… the most disturbing thing you've ever said and I can't get the image out of my head and my god make it stop," Connor groaned.

Spike chuckled. "Poor boy. Is that all you can handle? If you needed the kid gloves, all you had to do was ask." He chucked Connor on the shoulder. "With a pretty please and lavish praise for my superior talents as a snarker extraordinaire."

Connor gave a full-body shudder. "Make. It. Stop."

"Try imagining Angel in a tutu," Spike suggested. "I find that's a surefire mental bleaching of whatever's niggling in the far reaches of your brain."

"Oh god, that's worse," Connor groaned again, slumping against a tree.

A bullet ricocheted off the tree an inch above his head, the whistle in the air echoing even as bark shattered and fell into Connor's scruffy hair.

"Down!" Spike shouted, grabbing Connor and diving into the brush.

"Great. I was hoping to get another crack at these guys," Connor gritted out, rubbing his shoulder where the faint trace of his gunshot wound still tingled from the night before.

"Quiet," Spike murmured, vamping out to scan the darkness for signs of movement. He tilted his head to the side to listen for movement. Finally, in a whisper, "There's eight of 'em flanking our position. I'll take the four on the left-"

"And I've got the four on the right," Connor finished, crawling through the brush with skillful stealth.

"Go get 'em, Junior," Spike murmured, slipping out of his coat to crawl through the brush without the noisy leather hindrance.

Spike crawled out twenty yards, circling back until he was behind two commandos slowly approaching the tree where he and Connor had stood only thirty seconds before. He rose behind them, a silent shadow, grabbed them by the necks and bashed their heads together. He grinned at the thumping of their skulls before they fell to the ground. _The Three Stooges_ was classic for a reason.

The bullet whizzing past his ear wiped the grin off his face. He dropped to the ground, flat on his stomach, and slithered back into the brush. Sitting with his back up against a tree, he waited for the remaining two commandos to close in. The bastards were moving at a snail's pace. He rolled his eyes and in looking up, noticed a branch that looked sturdy enough to hold him. And what do you know? It was. He licked his teeth in anticipation, tonguing the sharp edges of his fangs as he lay across the branch, a panther waiting to pounce.

Would Buffy object to a little harmless feeding? What if he didn't kill 'em, just made 'em a bit woozy from blood loss?

Damn, he was hungry. He hadn't eaten in over two days and the blood loss and exertion from the battle before topped off with the tease of Slayer blood nipping at his nose and…

Damn, he was _starved_.

He tensed when the commandos came into his line of sight.

Wait for it – wait for it – wait-

_Now. _

He dropped from above, knocking one commando down and using him as a jumping board to tackle the other one standing six feet to his left. He curbed the urge to snap the commando's neck – easiest way to kill him – and instead tossed him headfirst into the other commando now kneeling on the ground and aiming his rifle at Spike.

He rushed over and kicked the rifle out of the commando's grip, leaning down to serve two solid punches to both downed soldiers. God, he loved it when their eyes rolled up into the backs of their heads like that.

The _rat-tat-tat_ of a rifle firing across the clearing cut short his gloating. The boy wasn't immune to bullets like himself. Fuck it.

He arrived on the scene to find Connor running up a tree trunk to do a back flip and land behind the commando chasing him, kneeling down to kick the soldier's legs out from under him and punch him in the jaw. The crack of bone snapping traveled across the clearing. Boy had broken the git's jaw. Brilliant.

Two other commandos lay unconscious in the brush. Not bad, Junior.

Wait. Only three? There were fo-

The bullet hit him dead center in the back, knocking him to his knees from the pained shock of the blow. His first thought was relief that it hadn't hit his spine. That'd have been too much damage to heal from quickly. He rolled on his back in time to the rat-tat-tat of the soldier's rifle firing at Connor.

"Spike!" Connor shouted from behind a tree. "You okay?"

"Fuck yeah," Spike snarled back, rolling behind a bush for cover. "Where is the bastard?"

A _rat-tat-tat_ spray into the bush had Spike diving against the ground. He growled, fangs biting into his lips to distract from the shooting pain in his back.

A loud thump sounded and then footsteps approached the tree where Connor hid. Spike crawled closer to Connor's position, catching his eye and nodding a warning. He held up his hand and then snapped it down, ordering a joint attack. Connor and Spike jumped from their hiding places, Spike in the lead, fists raised with deadly intent.

They stopped short at the sight of the young woman with the purple hair and the tranquilizer gun in her hands.

"Hey, Lara," Connor blurted out, dropping his fists to awkwardly stuff them into the pockets of his jeans. "What's up?"

She raised an eyebrow. "What's _up_?"

"Uh, yeah. How ya been?"

She rolled her eyes and turned to Spike. "The last guy's at the base of the tree over there." She nodded behind her. "He'd set himself up in the branches to try to snipe you guys out." She shook the tranq gun. "I thought I'd lend a hand."

Spike whistled. "Slayer savvy, aren't you? And you ditched the main group why?"

Lara stared down at the ground, jerking a shoulder. "I figured you guys would get into trouble the second you stepped foot outside the cabin. So I rounded back and waited for trouble to find you." She smirked. "It didn't take long."

"Where'd you get the toy surprise?" Spike asked, nodding at the tranq gun.

"I took it off one of the guys you downed," Lara answered with a smile. "They've got all kinds of nifty gadgets."

"I bet they do. Alright, round 'em up and bring 'em to the center of the clearing here," Spike ordered, grabbing two commandos and dragging them to the designated spot. He nodded his approval when Lara dragged two commandos over to the circle and went back for two more without a complaint.

Spike began digging through the commandos' gear, tossing out the plastic reinforced restraints he found to Connor. He set aside a bottle of kerosene and started stockpiling the rifles. He eyed the black shirt one of the smaller commandos was wearing, then started pulling it off him.

"What're you doing?" Connor asked.

"Need a new shirt," Spike grunted. He paused and shot Connor a slow grin. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"We strip 'em naked and steal all their clothes?" Connor answered with a mischievous glint.

Spike didn't answer. He just started stripping the commandos of their boots and tossing them into a pile behind him. Then he went for their pants.

Lara dragged the final commando into the middle of the clearing only to drop his legs and cover her eyes. "Why are the evil soldier guys naked? Why? Why why why?"

Spike and Connor shared a look and snorted, "Women," before continuing to strip the soldiers down. Connor proceeded to use the plastic restraints to tie all the soldiers together by the wrists while Spike squeezed the bottles of kerosene he'd found on the pile of clothes.

"Oh my god!" Lara huffed, stomping over to the far end of the clearing and fisting her hands against her hips. "You guys are _insane_."

"Spike – catch," Connor said with a gleeful smile, tossing Spike a container of black body paint the commandos used for camouflage.

"Now you're getting it," Spike grinned, opening the container and getting a dollop of paint on his forefinger. He lifted up the first commando's head by the scalp and wrote 'poofter' on his forehead. The next commando was graced with the title of 'pansy'. The one after that – 'prick'. And then 'pratt'. And so on.

"What's with all the pee words?" Connor asked.

"Mocking is an artform. Just 'cause they can't verbally spar with you doesn't mean you get lazy with the insults." Spike gave a lopsided grin. "Besides, a little alliteration goes a long way."

"Oh," Connor breathed. "I was just drawing raunchy pictures all over them."

Spike eyed the NC-17 rated artwork, then gave a sage nod. "Yeah, that works, too."

"Are you done yet?" Lara yelled from across the clearing.

Spike and Connor gathered up the gear they deemed useful – "Got the grenades?" "Got 'em. Hey, you forgot your coat." "Like I'd ever forget that." – lit the kerosene-sodden pile – the fire from which Spike lit a cigarette – and strolled over to join Lara. She rolled her eyes and stomped off in the direction they'd been headed before the soldiers had interrupted.

Ten minutes later and a mile away, Lara snapped, "Was that really necessary?"

Connor shrugged and looked at Spike.

"Well, we couldn't kill them, yeah? The least we could do was humiliate the bastards."

Connor nodded. "What he said."

******

"Buffy?" Faith snapped her fingers in front of Buffy's face. "Earth to Buffy?"

"Wha huh?" Buffy answered with a blink.

"What do you think Spike is up to? Or don't you want to talk about him?" Faith rolled her eyes. "Can't share anything about your oh, so precious one and only? You never change, you know that."

"No," Buffy denied, eyes wide with exasperation. "I just have no idea."

"Yeah, right."

"Okay, fine. He's probably bored out of his mind." Buffy sighed. "And he's driving Connor crazy. And smoking. A lot. He's probably picked a fight or more like _ten fights_ just to keep himself entertained. Throw in an immature prank and ten digs at Angel and that's a full day for Spike."

"What? No daring heroics?" Faith laughed.

"Not today. Spike only likes to appear heroic every other day at most. If he can go a week without having to play the hero or at least no one _noticing_ him being all heroic…" Buffy shrugged. "He's got a reputation to protect."

******


	36. Chapter 36

_Edinburgh_

The safe house on the outskirts of Edinburgh was way too crowded. It reminded Buffy of that last year in Sunnydale with too many Potentials under her roof. It was a small two-story house with not enough bathrooms for thirty or so people. Thirty or so. She used to know exactly how many, but there used to be more only yesterday and she could _not_ think about the new total and why it was new and what that meant because if she stopped and let herself think about it then she'd…

No. Gotta focus on the now. On the immediate threat. Live in the now. Be the now. Now, now, now…

Most of the girls had hunkered down for the night—sharing beds, crashing on couches and making pallets out of blankets spread on the floor—while Buffy and her friends turned one of the upstairs bedrooms into command central, Slayer strength carrying the oval-shaped maple table and matching chairs up from the dining room. It was a minor hassle, rearranging the furniture, but the upstairs room provided privacy and a closed door. Pretty much the only working plan Buffy had going was 'minimize the panic'. Privacy and closed doors were central to that plan. So she and her friends brainstormed upstairs (and tried to act like they had a clue what they were gonna do) while the girls—mostly Slayers with a few Wiccans tossed into the mix—slept down below.

Good for them. Rest up. Gotta get that beauty sleep.

As for Buffy, dozing on the bus had only reinforced her belief that sleeping mid-crisis (or crisis-adjacent) was the baddest of bad ideas. At times like this, nightmares and Slayer dreams blended together in her mind until she couldn't tell the difference between what her subconscious was terrified might happen and what was destined to happen. Prophecy and fear skipping down the hall of her mind, hand in hand—just another perk of monsters being large and in-charge in her world.

Spike's cameo in her dream hadn't helped with her non-clarity. She couldn't decide what was more disturbing—the dreams where she killed _him_, the dreams where she killed _everyone_ she cared for including him, or the dreams where she killed everyone else _but_ him while he watched. It seemed like the sort of question where you ticked 'all of the above' and wished there had been a 'none of the above' option. Worst of all, she couldn't keep her awake-world from going all askew by standing beside him, brushing her arm against his, looking into his eyes and knowing the difference between reality and nightmare—she couldn't do that because he wasn't _here_.

And _oh_. Wow, bad train of thought is bad and so not helping. Breathe. Focus. Breathe and then focus on slaying the monsters.

Except the monsters weren't demons this time, she thought with a sigh, hugging her arms around her. Plus there was that niggling voice in the back of her mind whispering that they, the _Slayers_, were the monsters in this equation. In a line-up full of normal human beings and Slayers, Slayers were the ones most likely to trigger the demon radar. One of these things is not like the other...

And her? She was the worst of them all. 'Cause she was in charge. Their leader. Where she directed, they followed. So everything they did—good or evil—well, that was on her.

Go team, go. Okay, gotta focus. Gotta keep the troops in line so they don't hurt people. Gotta keep the troops fighting so they don't die. Gotta be a way to do both, right…?

Too bad that stupid niggling voice didn't answer—not that she expected to like the answer but any answer would have been better than none—and it wasn't like she could ask anyone else, you know, out loud. For one, she wouldn't know where to begin. For two, well, imminent death kinda took priority over all her moral tilt-a-whirling (bonus point for extra credit: sharing her moral tilt-a-whirling was a big no-no in her 'minimize the panic' strategy). For three, she'd have to explain about the dreams—the dreams where she kept _killing_ all her friends—and talking about _that_? Awkward and also impossible to explain since she didn't understand what it meant. Especially when she factored in the whole prophetic-dreams thing on top of the imminent-death thing on top of her recent-trip-to-the-future thing—conclusion: she had way too many things.

And the only solution for that was to go into Buffy default-mode: less with the talking, more with the doing (aka hitting things).

So _focus_.

At the moment, the group brainstorming project was all of them—her, Giles, Xander, Dawn and Faith—squeezed into the-master-bedroom-turned-command-central watching Willow do her mystical-voodoo-meditation-turned-recon-walkabout on the commandos. Classic research pow-wow except more magic and less books—but still chocked full of her feeling useless as she waited for answers. Giles had reached out to some of his secret-and-scary contacts he knew from back in the days of the Watcher's Council, but the 007s-for-demons didn't have a lead on the commandos. Andrew and Kennedy had been sent out to get food and supplies—her second working strategy was keeping the two people who ran roughshod over her nerves _far_ away. She took a deep, calming breath. So far, the second strategy seemed to be working.

Buffy stood near the window, watching the dark midnight of the sky begin to fade. The sun was coming up. Behind her, Xander, Giles, Dawn and Faith all sat around the table while Willow oom'd within a circle of candles and relics on the floor.

"I see—I see—I see it now," Willow murmured, breaking the silence and causing everyone to jerk out of their dazes. Her voice had an eerie, otherworldly quality to it—like she knew all the answers to the mysteries of the world and would share them if asked the right questions.

Buffy exchanged an urgent glance with Giles. They'd been waiting for Willow to surface from her mystical jaunt for the last two hours. The situation had started to look hopeless. More hopeless. Extremely bad with the lack of hope.

"See what?" Buffy stepped closer to Willow, stopping at the edge of the circle.

"Uh, a symbol," Willow said, her eyes still closed. Her face scrunched up as if she were inwardly squinting. "It's a… tattoo?"

"So the bad guys have tats. Big whoop. Who doesn't?" Faith snorted, pulling her sleeve up to show the black tribal tattoo circling her right bicep. She sat straddling a chair turned backwards, her arms hugging the backrest with impatient fingers tapping against the polished wooden tines.

Buffy held up her hand, taking control of the room. "Is that how they keep tracking us? Through this tattoo? Can you stop it? Maybe scramble their signal?"

"Or fry it sunny side up?" Xander's hand slammed down on the table in a resounding slap. He sat leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on the table's edge. "Anyone else starved? How long does it take Andrew to do a donut run? Back in my day, you didn't keep the folks plotting to save your bacon waiting for the brain food." His expression softened, eyes distant as he recalled with fondness: "Ah, bacon."

Buffy shook her head, torn between amusement and exasperation, but didn't comment.

Dawn snickered from her seat next to him. "Did you see the look in his eyes when you handed him those huge wads of cash? We're lucky if he even remembers we exist. Twenty bucks Andrew's at the nearest comics store geeking out over limited edition issues."

"Hey, I've seen enough spy flicks to know it's cash only when you're on the run from a paramilitary organization out for blood," Xander defended. "And there's a comics store near here with limited edition issues open at five in the morning?"

Giles cleared his throat and, rising from his chair, pushed Xander's feet off the table. Xander protested with a yelp.

Giles ignored him and leaned against the edge of the table with his arms crossed. "Willow?"

Willow opened her eyes and looked up from her position on the floor where she sat Indian-style. "Are we talking tattoos, breakfast food preferences or comics? 'Cause no thank you, I asked Kennedy to bring me back a bagel with strawberry cream cheese, and they're not my first, second or third reading choice but I'm non-judgmental of the fans. I say read what makes you happy. And, you know, _do_ what makes you happy. And love whoever makes you happy. Basically everyone should go be happy doin' and readin' and lovin'. Not necessarily in that order. Or concurrently," she finished, giving Giles, Xander, Dawn and Buffy a supportive nod.

Giles smiled in spite of himself. "I meant do go on about your vision."

"I knew that," Willow explained with a tinge of good-natured defensiveness, standing up and brushing pieces of floor dust off her slacks. "I just thought we could use a moment of levity. Lighten up the dire mood around here."

"Levity has achieved liftoff. Go team," Buffy said with a shadow of a smile before nodding grimly. "But focusing on the problem is also key in the sense of extremely necessary."

"Hey, I just got back from a serious mindbendy vision quest. Give a Wicca a sec to readjust to mortal time and space."

Willow released a sigh, straightened her shoulders and strode over to the table. She grabbed a pen and started sketching on a blank sheet of paper (blank save for the dirty doodling in the margins—evidence of the current non-progress of the brainstorming and Faith having a hidden artistic side expressing her well-known raunchy side). Willow drew a long horizontal line down the middle of the sheet of paper, then an incomplete half-circle starting a few inches in from the far right of the line. The line curved up and then down, not quite meeting the line again, leaving a small gap between the line to form an incomplete half-circle. Above the line and the open joint of the half circle, she drew a star.

Picking up the paper, she tacked it onto the wall and stepped back, presenting the sketch with a grim flourish. "I give you the source of our commando problems. This is how they're tracking us. How they broke through the mystical barriers protecting the manor. How they're flying so far under the radar that radar doesn't even know they exist."

And the hits just keep on comin', Buffy thought, swallowing the bile in her throat before murmuring, "Twilight."

***

_Not-in-Edinburgh_

"Oh, sod it, buggerin' bollocks, bloody hell, you fuckin' bastard…"

"You sure you know what you're doing?" Connor asked, leaning over from the passenger seat to watch Spike fiddle with some wires underneath the blue Volvo's dashboard.

"Kinda busy here," Spike grunted, trying to get the wires to spark and fire the engine of the older model car. He struck two exposed wires together then cursed again.

"Can't we just rent a car or take a bus or something? I'm thinking we dismissed the not-illegal travel options a bit too quickly earlier when we jumped right to stealing the first car we saw," Lara said, climbing into the back of the car and squeezing in between the front and passenger seats to get a better look at Spike's progress, her right shoulder bumping into Connor's. Frowning at Spike sprawled down below and growling at the wires, she said to Connor, "I don't think he knows what he's doing."

"Shut it," Spike growled, glaring at their skeptical faces peering down at him where he lay on the floorboards of the car. "Can't focus with you two nattering on."

"Uh-oh," Lara singsonged. "Sun's coming up."

Spike rolled his eyes and continued testing the wires, stifling a groan when he jabbed his back against the seat lever. Damn, he hated bullet wounds.

"You know, traveling with vampires really sucks," Connor noted. "You ever think about how limited your life is by the whole sunlight allergy? Or unlife, I guess. Whatever you call it. Talk about an in-your-face existential crisis—always defining yourself by what you're not. Can't get a tan. Can't watch the sunrise or sunset. Can't…"

"Can't travel cross-country during the day without mega-tinted windows?" Lara suggested, fiddling with an errant strand of violet hair that kept falling across her forehead. "Which this old car doesn't have so looks like Spike's gonna have to get in the trunk."

Spike rumbled his annoyance, but didn't respond. Shame of it all, he was out of practice with boosting cars. Just goes to show it had been too long since he'd nicked anything worth a felony charge. Even the RV he'd stolen a few years back when Glory was on the rampage had the keys hidden in the visor—why anyone would think _that_ was a good place to keep a set of keys, he didn't know. Morons a-plenty in this sorry world. Too bad the owner of this Volvo wasn't that brain dead—would've made his getting back to Buffy a hell of a lot easier.

Growling in frustration, he jerked two ends of wires together and, wonder of wonders, finally got a spark. The engine roared to life, sending vibrations through the body of the car and setting off victorious whoops from Connor and Lara. Spike settled for a smirk and a quirked eyebrow that said 'told ya so'.

Grinning, Connor slapped Spike on the shoulder, giving him his due, then jerked his thumb at the trunk. "In the trunk where the sun don't shine."

Spike eyed him in suspicion. "You even know how to drive? Or don't they teach that in hell dimension secondary school?"

Connor's grin widened to bare his teeth. "Better hurry up before the dust settles."

"I could drive," Lara offered from the backseat.

"You even know where we're going?" Spike interrogated Connor, hand on the door as he got ready to make a dash into the back. He was cutting it close, but that was nothing new—hell, it was the way he lived, wasn't it?

"Yeah," Connor drawled. "Willow gave _me_ the address, remember? And if we get lost, I can just Google-map it." He held up his Blackberry as proof of competency.

"I'm actually pretty familiar with Scotland 'cause of a family trip a few years back, so I could navigate…" Lara's voice trailed off when she noticed the two men in the front seat weren't listening to her.

Connor pushed at Spike's shoulder. "Move it or lose it. It's my turn behind the wheel."

"Better _watch_ it, Junior." Spike didn't raise his voice, but the threat was all in his tone.

The Volvo rocked on its wheels for the next minute as Connor and Spike wrestled in the front seat, grunting and growling. Spike didn't need much excuse to pick a fight on a good day, so the appealing prospect of a day trip stuck in the trunk of a beat-up car while his grandsire's son played Driving Miss Lara was more than reason enough to get a bit rough. He figured Connor's motive was more basic—show off for the pretty girl by looking all manly. And since Spike had a few minutes till the sun crested over the hill and he was trapped in the metal box all goddamn day, he thought he'd make the most of it by working out some aggression. He groaned when Connor planted his fist against the open wound in his back.

"Okay! Enough!" Lara ordered, jerking open the driver's side door and yanking Spike out by the collar of his leather duster. She jabbed an angry finger in the direction of the trunk. "Get in!" She waited until Spike slinked to the back and lifted the trunk door before turning and glaring at Connor who had moved into the driver's seat. "Move over," she snapped, climbing in and slamming her hip into his with an added dose of Slayer strength.

"Hey," Connor protested as he slid back over to the passenger seat. He quieted down when Lara turned her glare up to full power. "So,uh, you want me to navigate?"

"Does Google maps even work in Scotland?" Lara asked with a snort, watching the trunk close seemingly of its own will in the rearview mirror as Spike shut himself inside. She shifted the gears, then hit the gas, rolling her eyes as she muttered, "_Men_."

***

Spike lost track of time locked up in the trunk. He'd dozed off and on for the first hour then after that…

It was the rumbling in his stomach that woke him. Christ, he was starved. Today was Day Three without a drop to drink and the multiple bullet wounds in his hand and back were adding a keen edge to his ravenous hunger.

He strained to hear Lara and Connor, but all was silent. Odd, that. Even odder was the sense that the car was moving at a slow pace. They were within the city limits then or maybe passing through a small town. The slow pace continued for the next half-hour, the car turning left then right. Spike began to wonder if they weren't traveling in circles—or maybe figure-eights—and cursed himself for falling asleep. If he'd stayed awake, he could have tried that MacGyver trick where you mark your surroundings by using your other senses as you're driven off blindfolded.

Blinking in the darkness, he realized he might not be able to tell the where, but he could tell the when. Senses reaching out, he marked the sun making a downturn in the sky. Sunset was approaching.

What the hell? They'd been traveling the entire bloody day and hadn't gotten there yet? How long had they been driving in circles and where the hell were they?

Scotland wasn't exactly a sprawling, vast country. It should've taken them only a few hours to travel to Edinburgh from Oban. The car slowed and came to a stop. He heard footsteps and then a hand banged on the top of the trunk.

"Spike?" Connor called. "You in there?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, I'm not. It's the ghost of Christmas past ordering you to get me a pint of O-neg," Spike snarked back. "Don't be an idiot—of course, I'm in here! Where the hell am I gonna go? And where the hell are we?"

"Uh, we're in Edinburgh and…"

"Yeah? And?"

"We can't find the safe house."

"Knew this would happen," Spike grumbled to himself. "Young'un can't even be trusted to use a map."

"I heard that!"

"So? Doesn't make it not true."

Connor banged his fist on the trunk again, insisting, "This isn't our fault. We followed the directions. We Google-mapped the address. We're standing here right where the safe house should be. Only…"

"Only what?"

"Only it's not."

"Not what?"

"Not _here_."

"Did spending the entire day with Buffy 2.0 turn you daft?"

Connor slammed his fist on the trunk again. "_Spike_, it's not here. We've been circling the city for hours, asking for directions, and everybody acts like they don't know what we're talking about. And Willow's not answering her cell. Something's off. We even tried talking to the neighbors next door to where the safe house should be and, well, they were acting weird. It's like—it's like the house just up and disappeared and nobody noticed or seems to care. Like _The Wizard of Oz_ sent a tornado to Scotland and now we're screwed."

"Bloody Brigadoon," Spike cursed, slamming his head back against the side of the trunk. "I hate this barmy country."

It was magic. Had to be. Probably a spell Red cooked up to keep them safe. No need to panic. Except…

Where the hell was Buffy?

***

Faith slammed on the brakes and whipped the crimson Ferrari 458 Italia in a one-eighty degree spin till she was facing the way she'd come on the dirt road near a copse of trees. Shifting the car into park, she ran her hands along the wheel, purring, "Man, I could get used to riding this. Gotta love a sleek machine with all that power revving under the hood, right girlfriend?"

Buffy shook her head, turning away to hide her smirk. "Whatever floats your boat." She climbed out of the car and headed towards the front, calling, "Pop the trunk."

The hood popped up an inch and Buffy hooked her fingers underneath to lift it. She'd barely begun to lift it before Faith's hand slammed down on the hood. Buffy flexed the muscles in her arms and considering tossing Faith out of the way, but settled for a disgruntled glare. "Faith, let go."

"You sure you wanna do this, B? 'Cause I can dig the flash and flare—it's kinda my thing—"

Buffy interrupted, impatience riding her. "Do you actually have a point or are we just gonna stand here arguing and doing our best impression of sitting ducks?"

"My _point_ is this is crazy and I'm pissed and I wanna kill those fuckers for what they did to Si—." Faith gritted her teeth, broke eye contact and took a deep breath before continuing in a low, controlled tone. "I wanna beat 'em bloody then twist the knife into their guts so they know how it feels—how _this_ feels. That's what I _want_, but I know it ain't right. So I'm not. And what I need to know is—you sure you wanna do it like this?"

"There's a whole lotta things I don't wanna do," Buffy met Faith's gaze with a grim solemnity. "But this isn't about wants—it's about justice. What I _want_ isn't the point. It never is."

Faith smiled wryly, her serious temper fading. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I feel the same way about this magic tat Red convinced me to smack on for the greater good." Faith pulled up the short sleeve covering her right bicep with her free hand, grimacing at the bright yellow Tweetie bird sitting atop one of the swishes of her black tribal tattoo. "This cartoon crap's really messin' with my cool."

"Aw, but it's cute," Buffy said with a smile and an evil glint in her eye.

"Screw you," Faith shot back. "I should've known you'd call dibs on the Roadrunner press-on. Classic Buffy—giving everyone the run around."

"That's the plan." Buffy quirked an eyebrow and nodded at the trunk. "So are you gonna get out of my way or…?"

Faith lifted her hand off the trunk, holding it up in the air. "Alright. Go do your thing. Consider this my last attempt to talk sense into you. Trust me—it won't happen again."

"Aw, Faith," Buffy drawled, opening the trunk and hefting the rocket launcher up on her shoulder. She checked the firing mechanism and ran a hand along the cool metal, then noticed Faith watching her with a fascinated look on her face. "You don't let up, I'm gonna think you're jealous. Admit it—you're just pissed you're stuck behind the driver's seat of the getaway car. You can't stand to miss out on all the action."

"Could be," Faith admitted with a snort. Leaning against the side of the Ferrari, she pulled out a cigarette and lit up, flicking ashes off the burning end and watching them land at Buffy's feet. "Or maybe I'm over the whole kamikaze Slayer look. Been there, done that. Moved on like my parole officer would've encouraged me to if I'd ever gotten parole. Reformed here, remember?"

"Good thing you're not the one pulling the trigger," Buffy snapped, spinning on her heels and stalking across the grass towards the line of trees, the rocket launcher bobbing against her shoulder with each step.

"Damn," Faith breathed, watching Buffy march through the warm orange glow of the setting sun and disappear into the dark shadow of the trees. Faith took a long drag; exhaling smoke, she chuckled softly, "Shit's about to get wild."

***


End file.
